


Make Love not War

by 0peaches_writing0



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Angst, I dont mean to be that bitch but..., M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Consensual Spanking, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Season Unending, Slow Burn, Smut, Some Fluff, Some Humor, Werebeasts, i think that's the quest? the one with the peace council, idk it just happened, im sorry, slight rikke/elisif if you squint, well feelings wise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27873606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0peaches_writing0/pseuds/0peaches_writing0
Summary: What if there was an alternate ending to Skyrim's civil war?(I do not own the characters, this is purely for fun!!)
Relationships: Ulfric Stormcloak/Tullius
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHH  
> I DONT KNOW WHAT I JuST WROTE  
> to be honest I have been sitting on this since quarantine during the pandemic spike, which reawakened my Skyrim obsession and...repressed ships and I realized there's barely any fics of these two so I said 'fine...i'll do it myself...'  
> AND I DID  
> honestly I wrote this purely for fun and I've been so scared to post it cause I don't wanna get death threats lol, I plan to post more just chapter by chapter cause once again, I am afraid. But honestly if peeps read this and then get pissed, you gotta ask yourself why you read it, you always have the option to click away so please don't blow up my inbox with hate, I'm just having fun, and also searching for others who ship these two cause damn it's tough to find any content :(  
> anyways, have fun and I hope you enjoy!  
> I do love any kind of criticism on my writing style though! I'm looking to improve my writing so don't be afraid to call me out on shit.  
> -Peachy

The room was dimly lit by torches that flickered against the uneven stone walls of high Hrothgar. Shadows danced against the manmade masonry as war-bound enemies took their seats around the massive council table in sour spirits—not the kind fit for discussing a truce.

_Nobody wanted to be here._

“We gather here today…” Arngeir, the leader of the greybeards had begun his speech and the room went silent, save for everyone shifting in their seats to get comfortable.

There was a subtle cough here and there, a sniffle, from having to burden the treacherous cold of the tallest mountain in all of Skyrim and climb up the 7,000 steps. The frigid castle loomed over the icy landscape of rocky boulders and frigid packed snow scattering the surface of the mountain. It was almost nightfall; why the dragonborn chose such an inconvenient time was beyond the two sides of the table who were trying to glare daggers at each other. However, this was the fate of the world they were discussing and no time could be spared against the ancient dragon: Alduin, historically named ‘The World Eater’ by the nords of Skyrim.

“…Negotiation…”

However General Tullius couldn’t help the vacant look crossing his features as he put all of his efforts into staying awake and fighting off the prickling sensation that was itching his body. Even though he was probably in the coldest place in all of Skyrim, the cool stone table seemed so tempting to rest his forehead on. This was considerably the worst time possible to come down with the hay fever, but he put up a bold front to remain a symbol of strength for the empire. The Imperial Legion couldn’t afford to have their leader bed-ridden with illness.

**“No.”**

The imperial snapped his head up which had been slowly falling forward as a wave of exhaustion swept over him. Ulfric, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion and Jarl of Windhelm, was causing a scene as usual... Legate Rikke was quick to comment on the predictable outburst which had the nord snarling in fury.

“The Thalmor have no right to be at this negotiation!” The Jarl declared pointing an accusing finger at the high elf seated on the opposite end of the table. Galmar Stonefist, his second in command, was quick to stand at his side ready to back him up.

Tullius then realized it was his turn to speak as everyone began to gaze at him owlishly, the imperial cleared his throat, embarrassed that he’d been caught unawares.

“Ulfric, whoever I bring to this council is none of your concern; are you planning on dictating this entire meeting?”

“I’m insulted to be expected to stand in the same room with a _Thalmor spy_.” The Jarl sneered back, crossing his arms in a defiant stance as he made his terms.

“The point of this meeting is to discuss a truce; how will we ever resolve this matter as long as we are negotiating the terms of the meeting?” Arngeir interrupted putting on a patient façade, but much like the dovakiin’s, it was beginning to wear thin…

“We need someone else’s input, what’s your say dragonborn.”

All eyes turned expectantly, breath held as the armor-clad adventurer gazed up at the Thalmor agent, assessing her with a calculating gaze.

“She poses no threat, General Tullius has the freedom to bring whoever he wants to this meeting.” The dragonborn proposed, however, Ulfric wasn’t quick to let the topic slide and tried to persuade the armored nord once more.

“You’re really going to let that—Thalmor bitch—walk all over us nords?” his words were dripping with venom, and everyone in the room could feel the hatred of the High Elf by the name of Elenwen seething through his voice.

“What I say is final, besides, general Tullius doesn’t seem to like her very much either so you both have some common ground.” The dovakiin stated firmly, refusing to budge on her decision.

Arngeir timed his interruption carefully after the Stormcloak finished bickering with the Thalmor ambassador for a few seconds until he sat down with sore feelings.

“Let’s get back to the matter at hand, Ulfric Stormcloak, General Tullius, what will it take to negotiate a temporary truce?”

Seeing as Tullius hadn’t spoken yet, Ulfric took the initiative to lay his terms on the table.

“We want control of the reach, surrender Markarth to us and we’ll withdraw from battle until the dragonborn defeats Alduin.”

Under the table, Jarl Balgruuf, who had been sitting quietly next to the imperial subtly kicked his shin, effectively snapping him out of his daze. Gods…he hadn’t spared the nord a sliver of his attention, just as Tullius bit his cheek while facing his predicament, Jarl Elisif stepped in at the perfect timing.

“I should’ve known better than to come to this meeting and expect a fair negotiation from you, you murderous traitor; handing over markarth on a silver platter is absurd. General you can’t seriously be considering—”

He’d heard enough to get himself back on track, and Tullius stepped in, just as the General of the Imperial legion should do,

“Jarl Elisif, let me handle this.”

The woman bit her tongue and settled for scowling in the nord’s general direction, refusing to even grant eye contact. However, the Stormcloak’s attention was elsewhere, his piercing green eyes were focused on the General across from him. Tullius fought down the tremble that went down his spine when he clashed with the nord’s mossy irises that awaited his answer. He swallowed dryly and his voice came out raspier than he wanted,

“Ulfric, you can’t possibly be expecting us to just hand over Markarth, a most valuable resource, without any compensation for the empire.”

Galmar Stone-fist clenched his jaw and awaited the calm jarl’s response. Ulfric’s deep voice had an effect on General Tullius that he didn’t want to dwell on. All he knew is that if he were standing, he would’ve gone weak in the knee’s long ago—He fought the urge to drag a hand over his face.

_‘What is wrong with me?!’_

“Very well, what do you propose.” The Stormcloak negotiated patiently, gesturing at the imperial who suddenly felt very small in the ancient, stone chair, probably carved from the face of the mountain itself. He fought back the urge to gulp when everyone waited with baited breath, yet again, on his answer,

“We want compensation for the massacre at Karthwasten; the very people you claim to be fighting for that you slaughtered has left behind a heavy mess for the empire to clean up.”

Fury lashed through Galmar Stone-fist and he swiftly made a scene, standing up in his seat,

“You damn imperials, always twisting details to fit to your liking—”

“The compensation is yours.” Ulfric spoke over his enraged second in command, locking eyes with the imperial to ensure his loyalty to the terms. The nord was hissing his complaints at his side, but the Jarl dismissed them. There was no point in getting into an argument now, they were here to negotiate the truce so that the world could be rescued from the abysmal maw of Alduin.

“So, you’ve finally come to your senses… we want control of the pale as well; I believe it’s a fair enough trade for the reach.” Of course, General Tullius expected some backlash from this statement, but the dragonborn stepped in to agree. This forced the Stormcloak’s to back down and bitterly accept the terms of the agreement. Honestly, it wasn’t the best terms for a truce, but everyone agreed this was as good as a negotiation gets between the two war driven sides.

The Stormcloak’s were the first to make their exit. Following after, were the blades who were itching to get away from the greybeards they loathed; the ones who sought the guidance of the ancient dovah by the name of Parthurnaxx. The legion was the last to leave after the greybeards respectfully wrapped up the council, Elenwen making a snarky comment that left General Tullius with a persistent headache. The dovakiin had left after speaking shortly with the blades, eager to execute their plan of trapping the dragon Odaviing in Jarl Balgruuf’s palace: Dragons Reach.

The monks bowed to the dovakiin, the ethereal greeting shaking the ground before they cleared the room to continue their meditation on the way of the voice.

The room spun when the imperial rose from his seat and he gripped the headrest of the stone chair tightly for support. Shaking off the dizzy fog sweeping over his brain, General Tullius trudged forward. The blurry image of Jarl Balgruuf came into view as the rest of the group walked ahead of them, chatting animatedly about something called a _“Girls Night”,_ legate Rikke seemingly dragged into Elisif’s excited chatter.

“Is everything alright, general?” The nord asked with a hint of mild concern underlying his tone. General Tullius couldn’t afford to look weak, so he feigned a serious mien,

“I’m fine, the air is just…thin up here.” The fumbled excuse was good enough for Balgruuf to forget about any further questions, but he still kept up at the General’s side, despite the groups distance ahead of them. The room suddenly felt unnaturally hot, or was it his body? His arms felt too heavy to even fan his reddening face.

Tullius blinked heavily and the room whirled again, black spots dancing in his vision. The tilted view of the intricately carved stone ceiling was the last thing he saw before everything went dark. They didn’t even make it to the door... The loud clash of armor against the masonry was enough to startle everyone into silence. Legate Rikke was hovering over the general in an instant, withdrawing her weapon to point it at the stunned jarl who had crouched next to the imperial.

“What happened?” she demanded harshly, her jaw set in anger,

“You can’t seriously tell me you didn’t notice the General has fallen ill.” Jarl Balgruuf frowned, looking pointedly at her imperial-issued sword. Rikke realized her mistake, and not a second later she sheathed her weapon, bowing her head slightly as an apology,

“Explain.” It was only natural for the military governor’s second in command to be upset about overlooking such an important detail. Afterall, it was her job to make sure the general was in good health, despite him being able to hold his own, yet she’d failed him.

“He’s been struggling to stay awake ever since our arrival, I had to bring his attention back to the meeting multiple times.” The jarl of Whiterun reasoned, remembering that he’d also been lacking on their journey up the mountain as well… Rikke’s head lowered to hide the hurt in her eyes, and her hard expression fell into a bitter grimace. She never even noticed, and amidst the tense atmosphere of the room she made a silent vow that she would never forgive herself for allowing harm to befall the general.

“Legate Rikke, don’t be so hard on yourself, neither of us noticed either.” Jarl Elisif broke the silence gently with her kind words of comfort, gesturing to Elenwen behind her.

“You don’t understand, my job is to protect him! How can I proudly call myself his second in command if I failed him?” The nord woman spat harsher than she’d meant to, regretting her rash action immediately. Elisif seemed to shrink in fright, never before has she seen such a feral look in the legate’s eyes, it conjured a pang of fear in her very core.

“I—I need to get some air.”

A burst of cold air wisped into the room after the heavy metal door slammed shut behind the imperial soldier, and everyone in the room let out a breath they didn’t know they’d been holding.

“Well back to the matter at hand…does anyone know what could’ve caused the general to fall ill?” Balgruuf coughed awkwardly, hoping to break the ice that settled in the mute room.

“He could be affected by the altitude, or the wind chill from climbing the mountain…” Elisif tried to hide the tremor in her voice as her frayed nerves betrayed her true feelings.

“Elisif, it’s not your fault, Rikke is just very stressed about the situation and she took it out on you.”

The jarl bit her lip and nodded slowly, stepping forward to assist Balgruuf. Her delicate hand rested on the imperial’s forehead; the heat of a fever was practically emanating off of him before she could even make contact.

“What is it?” The jarl of Whiterun demanded after seeing the woman’s conflicted expression.

“He’s burning up…”

“Elenwen, can you use a healing spell?” Balgruuf asked, his brows beginning to knit with concern as each minute passed; meanwhile, the imperial propped in his arms remained unresponsive and he was getting a bit heavy.

“Healing magic won’t cure your weird nord diseases.” The high elf scoffed arrogantly.

“How can you be sure it’s a disease?” the blond jarl’s voice was leaning on the defensive side.

“What else would it be?”

_“It could be a lot of things.”_

Everyone in the room jumped at the familiar voice as echoing footsteps strolled along with it, effectively masking the howling breeze that died behind the intricately carved metal door. Ulfric Stormcloak crossed the expansive hall to the group gathered around his war enemy, Galmar close behind his graceful stride.

“Don’t come any closer!” Elisif’s voice trembled with evident terror, but she held her ground and stepped protectively in front of the general. The jarl of Whiterun passed Tullius into Elisif’s care and stepped into the conflict, something he tends to avoid, but he preferred to keep the sacred mountain from being stained by bloodshed.

“Elisif—” Jarl Balgruuf hissed over his shoulder, interrupted by legate Rikke storming into the room with a chill as cold as an ice-wraiths bite following in suit. Metal scraped against the scabbard at her hip as the soldier was quick to unsheathe the imperial steel once again.

“Keep your distance from the general!” The soldier warned, stepping in front of Elisif who was quick to return to the safety of distance at Elenwen’s side. The elf was simply picking at her nails with disinterest while the crowned woman struggled to drag the imperial with her.

_Where is the dragonborn when you need them?_ This seemed to be a collective thought for everyone as the tense atmosphere returned like a thick fog, nearly suffocating this time.

“And here I’d thought you’d left acting all high and mighty, yet you stayed behind—were you planning to ambush us as soon as we stepped out of High Hrothgar? That’s low.” Rikke sniped over the stifling silence of the room.

“I thought we had negotiated a truce…apparently not.” Ulfric huffed at a distance from the crowd gathering around general Tullius, Elisif not waiting another moment to lash out behind the scene,

“Why would the general’s health be of any interest to a _murderer_ like you?”

The hateful words from the face of solitude stung not only his pride, but also his heart. A good majority of Skyrim was convinced that he’d murdered the high king of Skyrim in cold blood. However, what most didn’t know is that he’d challenged him as an honorable nord, and as a result the weak king fell to the blade of his axe in a fair battle. Ulfric clenched his fist and turned away from the sets of eyes that may pierce his skin with their hatred if they remained on him any longer.

“Jarl Elisif, Ulfric, your bickering won’t help the general, why don’t we hear him out?” Balgruuf scolded, looking to the nord pair expectantly.

The room stilled once more and galmar opened his mouth to announce their departure, but the jarl of Windhelm smoothly interrupted him. The flap of his hide cape cleared the silence when he turned to face the supporters of the empire he hated, and the unconscious general that had almost had his head in the chopping block.

“Well I’m not of any help if I have to stay ten feet away from him.” Ulfric snapped, looking pointedly at Rikke who stood between him and the jarl of solitude. The kind woman had gingerly laid the general’s head in her lap. At this situation, the Stormcloak had to bite back a bitter laugh, for if anyone were to walk in right now without much context, they would most certainly be under the impression that Ulfric had killed the military governor of Skyrim—as long as Rikke’s sword remained aimed at his neck…

_“I suggest the both of you sheath your weapons, or have you all forgotten that we are in neutral territory?”_

Arngeir, the robed greybeard, had heard enough. If it were up to him and not the dragonborn, he’d have thrown the bickering group out into the mountains eternal winter a long time ago for disrupting their peaceful meditation on the way of the voice. However, he promised the dovakiin that he would be hospitable…even though the armored adventurer had left long ago, he had to keep his word.

At the elder’s calm but disapproving voice, legate Rikke and Galmar Stonefist bitterly laid down their weapons on the stone floor with a metal clang in surrender and respect. The two settled for glaring at each other, like siblings who’d just been scolded by their mother for fighting.

“Now, please allow Ulfric to speak.”

The nord cleared his throat and also set down the war-axe that had been securely latched to his hip.

“I’m from the land of harsh winters in Windhelm; I know any illness born of the cold mountains when I see one. If you would just let me look at him, I may be able to determine what’s wrong.” Ulfric explained with exasperation, his eyes meeting the chilling glower of legate Rikke. The bite from his voice was now absent—replaced with underlying concern that suggested his sincerity.

“How can we all be sure you Stormcloaks haven’t poisoned him?” Elenwen sneered, apparently bored with her strict order of observation only.

“Somebody quiet that damn elf or I will!” Galmar shouted, reaching for his weapon, only to remember that he’d surrendered it to the hooded monk.

“Elenwen, you’re not helping!” Jarl Balgruuf hissed over his shoulder.

“Please, calm yourselves, let Tullius’ party explain what has happened here.” Arngeir urged over the newly agitated crowd, looking to Rikke for her input. The imperial soldier chewed the inside of her cheek, and instead sought Balgruuf to speak in her stead, afraid she would lash out if she spoke so soon.

“The general has fallen ill; we have reason to believe that he’s running a fever.” The blond explained to the Stormcloak leader who stepped closer after the armored woman had reluctantly stepped out of his way. Elisif tensed when the Stormcloak got closer, and Balgruuf gently cupped her shoulder to reassure that there was no danger. Again, it hurt Ulfric to be seen as a cold-blooded murderer, but he didn’t blame her. Afterall, he was the one who took her husband’s life…

The imperials skin was burning up, and it took the nord by surprise when the cool skin of his palm warmed by merely brushing his forehead. At another glance there was a flush on his pained face, his fine white hair dampened with sweat. The slightest movement made the imperial restless, leading to a fit of wheezing breaths.

“How long has he been like this?” Ulfric demanded, suddenly his harsh demeanor had returned when he stood back up to tower over the trio threateningly, one of which being unconscious.

“Well…” The jarl of Whiterun averted his gaze, and looked at Rikke as if seeking permission for what he was going to say next. No matter how dire of a situation, he struggled to share the general’s personal embarrassments without his consent, afraid it would only backfire on him if Tullius ever found out. Therefore, his next best option while said general remained unconscious, was the man’s second in command. The legate raised her brow at Balgruuf, and after understanding the hesitant look in his eyes she clenched her jaw, tilting her head to nod tightly in approval. Of course, she wouldn’t like this situation at all, shocked that she was even letting the Stormcloak remain at arm’s length from the general. Nevertheless, her respect for the greybeards and Nordic customs trumped her hatred for the rebels they shared the hall with. Galmar was faring no better, struggling with whether or not he wanted to fold his arms or offend the imperial soldier with a rude gesture. He seemed to take the latter and Arngeir eventually had to break up the side scuffle in the background and separate them in different rooms while Balgruuf shared what he knew.

“General Tullius was dozing off during the meeting, he seemed dazed almost…”

“You’re telling me this has been going on since nightfall?” The bite in the Ulfric’s sultry voice had returned and his emerald eyes narrowed on the jarl of Whiterun who felt an involuntary shiver of fear run down his spine. For what he feared in the nord’s fiery gaze was not anger, but possessiveness…over the _general,_ who Balgruuf began to keep his distance from.

“From what I’ve seen…for all I know he could have fallen ill before leaving solitude.” The blond forced the words out of his suddenly dry throat as he backed up a few subtle steps.

“That stubborn oaf…” Ulfric hissed under his breath, his face twisted in frustration as he began to piece things together, this could be two things...but one of them didn’t exactly match up with the general’s condition,

“He could be having a bad reaction to the cold if he’d already caught hay-fever before leaving solitude.” The jarl of Windhelm stuck with the safer answer and convinced himself it’s probably just a common illness, despite the voice in the back of his head that suggested this was something much different—complicated even.

“You really think _this_ could just be hay-fever?” Balgruuf expressed his disbelief by raising a confused brow, feeling his bravery return with Ulfric’s sudden shift in demeanor.

“If you ignore it long enough, sickness can fester and become deadly,” He dragged a hand over his face as he fought to control a sudden wave of possessiveness that began to wash over him, “Knowing Tullius, he wouldn’t admit he’s sick even if he were on his deathbed.” Ulfric explained to support his earlier statement which then had everyone silently agreeing with the Stormcloak. Afterall, he had a point…the general was notorious for putting politics before himself, leaving no exception for his own health.

“What do you know about the general?” Elisif countered defensively, daring to meet the blonds calculating gaze who only scoffed in response,

“He’s my enemy, of course I know everything about him.” 

The room went silent, save for the sounds of Tullius’ wheezing breaths which grew more desperate as time passed with their squabbling.

“We should get him a proper bed to rest in.” The Stormcloak urged after returning to the reality of the situation. He looked pointedly at the imperial who Elisif clung to after receiving a nod of agreement from Arngeir who beckoned them down a stone corridor. With the help of Balgruuf, the jarl of solitude managed to stand the general upright, but not for long, as their paired shoulders weren’t enough to support his weight which restricted any movement faster than a horker. Elenwen was no help, as she amusedly watched their struggle instead of offering a helping hand. Ulfric stepped in front of the struggling pair and awkwardly maneuvered beneath Tullius’ underarm as if he were tackling him, but instead this was simply to grab him by the hips and throw him over his shoulder. Jarl Elisif was quick to scold the blond nord who was displaying his strength,

“Don’t carry him like that you barbarian!”

The imperial hung limply over Ulfric’s broad back with an arm braced securely over his rear, and another behind his knees. Tullius’ tanned arms dangled above the ground as Ulfric walked briskly after Arngeir who led them directly to a stone wall. The Stormcloak waited patiently while the greybeard activated the secret passage with doors lining the hall that led to a final, large, hexagonal room where a few stone beds lined the walls. Due to the hidden rooms being carved into the mountain, there were no windows or any sunlight for that matter. Luckily the ancient nordic torches caught flame, illuminating the room with warm light. The singular double bed caught the nord’s attention, and he decided to lay the imperial down on the soft animal hides. Another monk by the name of Einarth, who took a vow of silence, gracefully placed a basin of water on a nearby end table with a few rags and retreated without making so much as a sound. Now it was master Borri’s turn, who respectfully bowed to the room after placing a pitcher of drinking water on another surface nearby.

“Thank you master Arngeir.” Ulfric bowed to the greybeard who did likewise, and the elder strode out of the room, eager to continue his meditation.

The blond took a second look around the room and noticed that, save for some cobwebs and a thin layer of dust, the space was kept relatively clean. There was even an armoire lined against the wall that faced the hearth in the center of the room which Elenwen had lit with her fire magic, unable to stand the biting cold any longer. However, it seemed untidy enough for Elisif to remain standing rather than sitting in one of the stone chairs like Ulfric and Balgruuf.

\----

A considerable amount of time had passed, and after their period of reflection enforced by the peaceful council, Rikke, accompanying the Stormcloak’s second in command, strolled in with a refreshed conscious.

“What’s the general’s condition?” the soldier demanded, immediately at his bedside.

The jarl of solitude looked up from the basin in which she soaked a fresh cloth to lay over the imperial’s forehead.

“He’s constantly wheezing as if he can’t breathe, and his fever has only gotten worse…” Elisif muttered, biting her lip with concern at the general’s weakened state. It didn’t help that she had to share the room with that _traitor_. Ulfric was unfazed, his eyes scanning the yellowed pages of a tattered book that looked as old as the Myrethic Era. Meanwhile, galmar rested his eyes as he leaned up against the wall near his commander.

“Is he—!!”

Rikke had reached a hand out to feel Tullius’ forehead, but this triggered a guttural groan of pain deep in his throat until she pulled away as if she’d been burned. Now they had the Stormcloak’s attention, and a pair of mossy green eyes snapped up from the Nordic language before he crossed the room to inspect the commotion.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing I only—” The legate tried to defend herself, but the blond insisted on interrupting her,

**“Don’t touch him again.”**

_“Excuse me?”_

“…”

Ulfric didn’t respond, instead, he looked down at the flushed imperial with a bitter grimace. Why is he acting so rashly? Since when did he become protective of general Tullius— _his war enemy?_

“Ulfric…?”

The nord lowered his head and dug his nails into his palms as he suppressed the urge to growl at the others in the room. However, this didn’t keep the unpleasant aura emanating from him at bay, which caused a prickle of danger across everyone’s skin.

_‘What is wrong with me!?’_

With much difficulty the nord decided it’s best that the less people around will ease his possessiveness over the general. Masking his ill-tempered voice, he came up with justifiable reasons for a couple of people to leave,

“Jarl Balgruuf, the dragonborn expects you at dragons reach, I’ll have Galmar escort you back to Whiterun before he returns to maintain Windhelm in my stead.”

Defying Ulfric’s orders, both prideful nords voiced their own protests,

“I don’t need to be escorted anywhere!”

“I’m not leaving you with these _imperial bastards_ Ulfric!”

Both objections were immediately shot down by the Stormcloak who insisted he’d be fine,

“Galmar, I need someone back in Windhelm to maintain order in the city and spread word to our men of the terms of the negotiation.”

He then turned to Balgruuf, his expression hardening,

“This is no time to be consumed with pride Balgruuf, Alduin is devouring the souls of our brothers and sisters in Sovngarde as we speak! It is your duty to return to your city safely and trap that dragon; your people need you.”

The two nords were reluctant to leave, but both found that neither of them could rebuttal his argument, nor having the stomach to do so—both left grumbling under their breath at each other’s side. Galmar and Ulfric had been attached at the hip since the great war, of course it was difficult to leave his side after all they’ve been through. At least Balgruuf and the Stormcloak officer got somewhat along, making the long journey just a little more bearable…

After the room was absent of a couple people signaled by the echoing steps fading out of earshot, Ulfric continued,

“Jarl Elisif, Elenwen will accompany you back to Solitude, the capital city can’t afford to be weakened without someone to sit on the throne.”

The woman sputtered and clenched the fabric of her dress, her gentle features scrunched up in an emotion that could only be despair,

“I’m not going _anywhere_ without the general, I can’t live through the loss of another person I care about. Falk-firebeard will step in during my absence.”

“Well _I_ have to make sure that you don’t kill Tullius, it’d be a mess of paperwork for the Thalmor.” Elenwen seamlessly stepped in, knowing that her choice of words would rile up the Stormcloak, but to her disdain, he remained unresponsive. His expression was unreadable, contemplative almost…and his wise green eyes lingered on her arrogant expression just a little bit longer.

Deep down, Elenwen felt a pit form in her stomach after considering the fact that Ulfric may have her and the Aldmeri Dominion figured out. For if Tullius or Ulfric were to ever fall, the civil war will be over and Skyrim will once again regain its strength, thus robbing the Thalmor’s chance of ever conquering the rich chunk of Tamriel. Her role was to keep the warring sides from ever succeeding, even if it meant asking them up front to spare each other’s lives. She was lucky enough that a dragon interfered at Helgen before any damage could have been done, well, to politics that is…

“Seriously, how is that shrew supposed to be on our side!?” Rikke shouted to no one in particular, part of her was saying it to Tullius, but unfortunately the imperial was out cold…or hot?

Everyone ceased their quarrelling when the general began panting from his position on the bed, lying flat on his back. It was easy to tell that he was uncomfortable, and Ulfric was the first to speak up,

“We need to get his armor off; he’ll have a heatstroke at this rate.”

“Elenwen do you know a spell that might cool him off?” Elisif asked as an alternative, looking up at the tall elf hopefully.

“Not unless you want your precious general to turn into frozen meat.” The Thalmor agent snorted, quite full of herself despite the desperation of the situation.

Ulfric had already started removing his boots and his gauntlets, but he would need help with the chest plate,

“This is our only option; his condition could get worse.”

Rikke bit her lip, reluctant to invade the general’s privacy, but this was a dire situation and there was no other sensible solution. The least she could do is spare him some of the embarrassment.

“Elisif, Elenwen, go find master Arngeir and have him show you to your room’s, I have a feeling we’re going to have an extended visit.”

The elf opened her mouth to pick a fight, probably gibberish about the white-gold concordat, but the jarl of solitude was quick to grab her arm and pull her out of the room before any more patience was lost.

Rikke would have to thank her later.

Once the legate made sure they were truly out of sight, the woman sighed and moved over to the other side of the bed, ready to assist Ulfric with removing the imperial’s armor. It was a struggle, considering that the general was no help being basically dead weight, but eventually their doubled effort brought success.

“His fever is rising; can you hand me that cloth?” Ulfric asked, which Rikke complied to begrudgingly. Soon after, a comfortable silence settled between them as they worked in tandem to wipe down the general’s overheated body with the cooled rags. They made an unsuccessful attempt to get him to drink some water. Of course, it was no use, exhaustion seemed to have an iron grip on the general’s consciousness. It wasn’t long before the legate decided she couldn’t stand the silence any longer,

“Ulfric?” Rikke asked after throwing a thin sheet over the comatose imperial,

“Hm?” Ulfric paused his reading of the same ancient book from earlier, and set the tankard in his other hand down,

“Why are you still here?”

“…”

That was a difficult question, one he wasn’t sure even he himself could answer. Truthfully, Ulfric had stayed behind out of guilt. He acted somewhat…childish during the meeting. So, he discreetly hung back to avoid the possibility of running into the general’s posse on the way back down the 7,000 steps, but after watching the blades take their leave down the steps of the ancient fortress, the Stormcloak suddenly felt a strong obligation to apologize to master Arngeir for his rash behavior. At least that’s what he had initially planned, but the sound of arguing and the draw of a weapon had piqued his interest…

~~~

_The only other people who haven’t descended the icy steps just yet were the imperial soldiers and their supporting holds. Whatever could have gone wrong in such a short matter of time? Galmar tugged at his bicep to hopefully get a head start instead, but the blond shrugged him off and opened the door a crack to hear the commotion._

****

**_“You can’t seriously tell me you didn’t notice the General has fallen ill.”_ **

_The nords brilliant green eyes widened, but he forced himself to stay behind the door instead of causing a scene by storming in unannounced. There was an outburst of furious shouting, and then the distant slam of a door, probably to the courtyard…_

**“Ulfri _mmf_ —!!”**

_He whirled around and quickly slapped a palm over Galmar’s hissing mouth, tuning in to the muffled voices beyond the door to make sure their cover hadn’t been blown. Ulfric shushed him and let go to lean against the crack once more. The Stormcloak officer scowled and crossed his arms, deciding to take a seat on the steps to wait this one out. Despite Ulfric being like a brother to him, the nord still held the title of a jarl; therefore, he could not defy him. In the meantime, he occupied himself by examining his prized battle-axe, making a mental note to sharpen it once they return to Ysgramor’s city—that is if Ulfric would hurry it up._

_A brisk wind howled against the caved entryway and Galmar braced his arms over his face against the chilling snow that pelted him. Out of curiosity, the nord looked behind him to see if his commander was ready to leave, but to his dismay the door hung open and he caught a glimpse of Ulfric’s boots disappearing into the greybeard’s hall. Galmar hissed a curse and threw his axe back over his shoulder to chase after the jarl. His fingertips brushed Ulfric’s hide cape, but it was already too late when he heard his booming voice echo in the expansive room._

****

**_“It could be a lot of things…”_ **

_Galmar Clenched his fists at his sides. Idiot! Not only was he willingly walking towards Skyrim’s military governor, but he just gave away the fact that they’d been eavesdropping on their conversation. This could only end up in stirring the war anew, despite their promise to the dragonborn._

~~~

Ever since that encounter, Ulfric had completely forgotten about apologizing to master Arngeir. Instead, he’d gotten wrapped up in the imperial’s business despite their bitter relationship. Why he was suddenly concerned for General Tullius’ health was beyond him; he blamed it on the strong urge he felt to protect him. However, he had no idea where this itch was coming from…

It wasn’t that the jarl of Windhelm hated the general and Rikke exclusively—despite their annoying quirks, they both had a good sense of character. Unfortunately, fate is cruel, and he had no other choice but to despise those who sided with the phony military that is the empire, which was the very source of his vengeful fury. At least they always had one thing in common; they both hated the Thalmor. That little sliver of common ground kept Ulfric from being completely consumed with hatred for the general and his second in command. In fact, he’d been hoping to reason with the empire rather than fight his way to the high king’s throne. Nonetheless, his rage consumed him, and complicated things, leading to blood he never wanted spilled dirtying his hands. Perhaps this could be his last chance at redeeming himself.

Though, Rikke would never believe him if he told her this at the most convenient time; so, he let her think the same of him. Nothing but a cold, heartless, jarl who cared only about himself…

“Because, we negotiated a truce, which will be no use to me or the dragonborn if he’s dead. Not to mention, the catastrophic backlash it would cause, which would only severe the war’s condition…” Ulfric chose his words carefully for his answer, so that he would remain as the same, ruthless, killer Rikke thought he was. Besides, it was better this way…

“You and your ulterior motives.” Rikke sniped, kicking herself for thinking that just for a moment, _hoping_ , that the Ulfric she knew during their serving in the great war was still in there—that there was a chance he had a faint of heart and began to feel emotion, but such things are simply impossible for the stone-hearted nord.

_He let her think that._

The blond simply went back to reading the Nordic language to mask his bruised feelings; however, this seemed to catch Rikke’s interest as she was leaning over his shoulder to try and glimpse the faded inscription.

“What in the name of Talos are you reading?” the legate asked, squinting at the unreadable ancient language.

Ulfric snapped the book shut creating a plume of dust that made the woman fly backward and cough out the particles that she’d inhaled; meanwhile, he covered the gold spine skillfully with a large hand,

“Just looking for anything that might connect to the general’s suspicious illness.”

“Anything good?”

“…”

Wordlessly the Stormcloak rose from his seat and stepped to Tullius’ bedside after tossing the dusty book back down on the chair, Rikke wouldn’t understand it anyways.

“Where did you learn how to read that?”

Ulfric pushed away the sheet on Tullius’ body, he was now curled up and facing the wall, his chest was still heaving and after checking his pulse, he could tell that his heartrate was rapid. Either the imperial was always this restless in his sleep, or he was only this fitful due to the fever spreading over his body.

“The greybeards didn’t only teach me how to speak in dragon tongue.” The blond gently pushed the general’s sun kissed shoulder to turn him on his stomach, and to his surprise he didn’t tense nor resist. In fact, his reaction was quite contrary, as he seemed to relax under the Stormcloak’s touch.

“oh…” Rikke commented, waiting for the nord to elaborate, simultaneously hiding her jealously that Ulfric was able to freely touch the general without causing him to stir in a fit of pain.

He quickly recovered from his shock and made an urgent motion with his hand, which Rikke understood as ‘cloth’ and, without missing a beat, she set the dampened fabric in his hand. She then took a seat to stay out of Ulfric’s way, and observe his examining the general as he explained, “They gave me the knowledge of skyrim’s history, and I had to learn the nords ancient language to decipher Jurgen Wind-caller’s handwriting.”

The legate’s face twisted in confusion, of course she knew the Wind-caller was the oldest dated dragonborn, and founder of “ _the way of the voice”_ , but what did shouting have to do with his handwriting?

“Why?”

Ulfric dipped the cloth back in the basin of water and let it drip freely on the way over to the general’s back, where he wiped the rag over his flushed skin to somewhat ease his fever.

“In order to understand the thu’mm of a dragon, my masters had me read and write as the dragonborn once did. Overtime, I was able to comprehend his teachings, and through meditation I was gifted the ability to shout sparingly without a dovah’s blood.”

“You _still_ call them _‘_ master’?”

The blond drenched the cloth once more and gripped Tullius’ shoulder for a second time to flip him on his back,

“It’s a habit I’ve never been able to break, I spent my childhood on this mountain under their care, and to this day I still hold great respect for them—”

Suddenly the nord’s breath caught in his throat and the legate was at his side in an instant. After Ulfric had completely pulled the sheet away, they both found scratches marring the general’s stomach, which seemed to descend to his lower abdomen.

“How long had he been curled up?” The blond was on the clueless woman before she could process the situation,

“Not long—”

“Did you see him moving at all besides the tossing and turning?”

“No, I—”

“Was he already injured?”

“I’m not sure, but we haven’t left castle dour for battle, we’ve only been strategizing.”

Ulfric went eerily silent, and Rikke was hoping he’d continue to interrogate her to keep her mind occupied instead of allowing her to conjure up a storm of internal panic. The damn nord and his dramatics.

“What is it?”

“…”

The room was engulfed in silence, only the sounds of the general’s wheezing and the fluttering of pages as Ulfric leafed through the tattered book.

“Ulfric!”

He looked up with an incomprehensible gleam in his emerald eyes, and snapped the book shut once again, tossing it aside to return to the imperial’s bedside. The blond seemed to be looking for something beneath the blankets, and then he turned around again with…confidence, despite his sudden unwillingness to look the woman in the eyes.

“Rikke, I don’t think Tullius is sick…”

“Why so suddenly— _Do you take me for a fool?_ Have I not been nursing his fever for the entire evening!?”

“You’re not wrong about his fever.”

“Then what?”

Ulfric bit his lip and considered whether or not it was worth the humiliation for him and the general. After several beats of silence while the legate watched his every change in expression, her own face scrunched in frustration, the nord relented. This wasn’t the time for embarrassment, but that didn’t stop a rosy blush from decorating his pale cheeks when he spoke ever so slowly,

“…Rikke…” Ulfric’s face was already on fire by just uttering her name, and the thought of what he had to say next. Luckily, the legate instantly understood that this was a fragile matter, and her expression softened, but it only made it harder for the Jarl of Windhelm to choke the words out.

“Go on.” She encouraged; her jaw still clenched for the bad news which was to come. The blond sighed heavily and dragged a hand over his face, furrowing his brows with the difficulty of choosing his words. Eventually he accepted his defeat, there was no way to sugar coat this, or soften the blow to his pride. The only way to say this was by putting it bluntly, something he wasn’t very good at,

“…His underwear is wet…”

The woman blinked stupidly, her mind going blank, left wondering if she’d heard him right,

_“What.”_

“General Tullius isn’t sick, he’s in heat.” The Stormcloak exhaled in exasperation, finding that he could no longer look the legate of the imperial legion in the eyes. In fact, he wasn’t sure he could ever show his face around the feverish imperial ever again after this.

After a few minutes the Jarl looked up only to see Rikke’s lips moving soundlessly as she tried to make sense of what he had just said. Trying to process this information was a huge blow to the gut, not to mention that it was the first time that she had ever seen Ulfric _blush_ , it was refreshing…

There was a sound of a slow inhale followed by a deep exhale, and Rikke finally got her words in order,

“If what you’re saying is true, then how did this happen?”

Relief washed over the nord’s face when he wasn’t met with laughter, but the dread slowly flooded back when he realized he had to explain this.

_‘Talos guide me.’_

“The book I was reading was a study on the circumstances of beast blood.”

Rikke frowned, already lost, “What does this have to do with hircine? Wouldn’t this involve Dibella?”

“I’ve only heard tales of this from my father, in my bloodline some of my ancestors were companions, the elite shield brothers and sisters are gifted the power of the hunt.”

The legate raised a brow, she was trying to follow, but the nord was rambling,

“The werewolves, or _beasts_ , have dynamics…”

She nodded slowly, looking back at the general with concern,

“Those with beast blood can sometimes choose a mate, if it’s between an alpha, and an omega wolf; however, this happens...almost never.” Ulfric continued and he sat down on the edge of the imperials bed, lifting a hand to trace the scratches on his toned stomach,

“When an omega encounters an alpha, it can cause a heat, which is for the purpose of mating and bearing offspring.”

“But if what your saying is true, then that means that general Tullius…”

“Has beast blood, and he is an omega.” Ulfric finished for her, intently gazing at the generals pained features.

“…Then… _you’re_ the alpha that caused this.” Rikke stuttered her sudden realization, standing to her feet to accuse the Stormcloak who had turned to glare at her defensively,

“I never said that.”

“But you just said—”

“I may have the beast in my bloodline, but it’s weakened through each generation, I’ve never had the ability to transform or the urge to hunt.”

“Then _who_?”

The blond shook his head, even he couldn’t answer that, opening his mouth to say so, but he was suddenly cut short,

“What in _oblivion_ are you two yammering about?” Both of the nords jumped in their skin and turned to look owlishly at the tall figure in the doorway.

“Oh, you know, just nord nonsense...” Rikke sneered sarcastically, her teeth clenched in annoyance. She already had to put up with enough in the last five minutes, dealing with the Thalmor ambassador was icing on the cake.

Elenwin scoffed and tossed some fine, blonde, hair behind her shoulder,

“Well, the hermits want you two to join us for dinner, your choice.” The high elf announced, turning on her heel without waiting for either’s response.

Ulfric looked away from the now empty doorway and suppressed a shudder, he still couldn’t stomach the sight of that damn elf after being in the Thalmor’s custody…

“Everything alright?”

The Stormcloak flinched at Rikke’s voice, and realized he had been making a bitter expression, clearing his throat the nord replied without any hesitation,

“I’m fine, aren’t you going to join them for dinner?”

“It can wait, I want to be here in case the general wakes up.”

Ulfric nodded in understanding and rose to get a drink of water, realizing that this was going to be a long night. In fact, it would be a lot easier for him if Tullius didn’t wake up and start asking questions.

Both of them flinched when the imperial began to stir, his rousing made apparent by the deep grumble that sliced through the silence of the room.

It seemed like Ulfric and Rikke now had something much more difficult to deal with besides the Thalmor…

\----


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I forgot that I actually posted this! well, here is the smutty chapter, I think that there's more in the future, but I hope its good! I'm still learning how to write that stuff without it sounding too awkward. Anyways I'm hella embarrassed so im gonna go hide now!

Forgoing the pitcher of water, Ulfric quickly took a seat at the general’s bedside to change out the cloth cooling his forehead once more. He couldn’t place the root of his emotions, but all he knew is that he was _eager_ to see the imperial wake up. Despite the fact that his embarrassment was telling him to flee the room as soon as possible, and let Rikke deal with the situation. The nord gulped, and then realized that it was too late to back-out, as those brown gemstones fluttered open. Without having to take a second look, he immediately noticed that the imperial’s pupils were extremely dilated. Which would only confirm his earlier statement…

“Ulfric…?”

The Stormcloak was shocked by the general’s lack of hostility in his gravelly voice, but he quickly recovered.

“…you’re awake.” Ulfric remarked somewhat awkwardly from his seat, knowing that he had to say something to the imperial gazing dazedly up at him, whose brow had creased in confusion. This was very unlike him; the Jarl was usually so smooth with his words. However, his addled mind went blank, and before he could even think, words had come pouring out of his mouth carelessly. Rikke heard this and nearly knocked over the basin of water in her rush to the general’s side.

“How are you feeling sir?” the woman asked eagerly as she stood at attention.

Feeling uncomfortable under Tullius’ burning gaze, Ulfric had gotten up to leave the room but something snapped out to grab his arm with a death grip. Both nords’ breath was suspended from the shock of the general’s surprisingly quick reflexes after coming out of a deep sleep. The blond’s face tightened at the sudden burst of pain that lanced through his wrist, as the imperial squeezed his arm and tugged him forward. Finding that he couldn’t pry his fingers away, Ulfric admitted his defeat and relaxed his arm that the general clung to. However, Ulfric began to feel restless the longer Tullius gripped his arm. His sun kissed skin was hot to the touch, and there was an unpleasant, prickling, sensation that suddenly washed over the nord’s body.

_‘Maybe I was wrong, could he have been poisoned?’_ It would explain why he himself was being affected by the general’s touch…

“Rikke—”

He’d been meaning to ask the legate if she noticed anything peculiar about what they ate or encountered during their journey to Ivarstead, but he was cut short by a raspy voice that pleaded for air.

“Legate, give us the room.” the first words spoken to his second in command were curt, and it stung that he wanted her to leave immediately after waking up.

“But you—”

The general had dipped his brow as his expression hardened and Rikke bit her lip, suddenly reluctant to defy the imperial.

“Nevermind sir, I will be outside if I am needed.” It hurt to choke out the words, knowing that Tullius would rather be alone in a room with Ulfric, after she’d been at his side since his assignment to the lead the imperial legion. He was like family, and she would never forgive herself if anything were to happen to him if she could have prevented it…but Ulfric had proven himself, why else would he help her nurse the general back to health and research his symptoms?

_He cared._

No matter how much the stubborn Stormcloak tried to deny it.

The door shut with a soft thud and a shadow under the crack moved away to guard the entrance from the side. Meanwhile, Ulfric looked back down at Tullius curiously who maintained his furrowed brows, squinting as if he were struggling to see…maybe he was pissed about waking up to the Stormcloak’s face...

“Let g—”

The nord had attempted to wriggle out of the general’s grasp, but to no avail, his iron grip left the jarl at his mercy. In fact, Ulfric could feel those finger’s coiling tighter around his wrist, like a snake around its prey. Just when he was about to forcibly wrench the imperials arm away, unable to stand the prickling sensation any longer, Tullius pulled his arm toward him and the nord tripped forward just inches away from his flushed face.

“ _What_ —”

The imperial had buried his face in his neck and inhaled deeply, setting Ulfric’s blood on fire,

“You smell good…”

At the sound of the imperial’s rough voice next to his ear, an abrupt wave of lust washed over him. The blond panicked and stumbled backwards, knocking over the fragile pitcher of water in the process. The shattering of ceramic alerted the legate outside the door; there was shuffling on the other side and then a muffled shout of urgent concern,

****

**_“Is everything ok in there?”_ **

“Uh—y-yes!” The nord raised his voice in response, praying to the divines that she wouldn’t open the door, as he was currently trying to calm the rapid pounding of his heart against his ribcage. It was hard enough just to keep the blood from rushing to his head and…other places. Ulfric shook his head and dragged a hand over his face as he heaved a sigh.

Of course, Rikke was skeptical, so she stuck around and kept an ear against the door. Part of her felt guilty for eavesdropping on the general, but he may not be in a proper state of mind when waking up to the sight of his war enemy, who knows what could happen?

On the other side of the door, the Stormcloak was struggling with an internal dilemma. Should he walk out the door right now and spare the general any further embarrassment, or should he try to figure out why the imperial was suddenly so infatuated with him? Deciding he should just let Rikke handle this, the nord turned on his heel with the full intent of leaving, but fate had other plans, and a needy voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

_“Alpha…”_

At first the blond’s pale eyes had widened in shock, but in a split second he frowned and whirled on the imperial furiously.

_Was he playing a trick on him?_

“What are you talking about general Tullius?” Ulfric demanded coldly, finally losing his patience. There’s no way he could be an alpha; specifically, _Tullius’_ alpha…

The Imperial was surely jesting, he must have heard his conversation with Rikke in his sleep and decided it’d be fun to mess around with him. Afterall, Nordic traditions always seemed to be a joke to the general anyways…

_However, the tickling scent curling around him was beginning to tell him otherwise._

“…It burns…” The now writhing imperial complained, clenching at his stomach where he’d been clawing earlier. To prevent any further injury, Ulfric restrained him and pinned him down on the bed, his legs resting on either side of the imperial’s body. Tullius inhaled sharply as vibrant, green eyes intently searched his expression though the curtain of blond hair that dangled over his flushed face. It didn’t take long for the burning sensation to return with a vengeance, and he tried to squirm once more. However, the nord seemed to be a lot stronger than him when he was weakened, and the weight of the body over him didn’t leave much leverage. Finally relenting, the general let loose a strangled groan of frustration. The blond who had been watching him carefully, finally spoke; In turn making the muscles of the body beneath him weak at the very sound of his smooth, deep, voice,

“Let me ask you one thing.”

Tullius complied without hesitation by humming in agreement. The imperial’s docile behavior was so unnatural to the nord who he could never win an argument against, let alone hold a normal conversation him.

“Who am I?”

“Alpha—” he blurted instantly with a confused frown, wondering why was he asking him _that_ of all things, but he was cut short,

“Besides that.” The blond huffed impatiently, the grip on the imperial’s wrists tightening,

“…Ulfric…Stormcloak…”

Ulfric’s eyes flicked over to the door and then back down on the imperial who began to smell _very_ enticing. It wasn’t a perfume…more like the pleasant, herbal scent of juniper and lavender that left his mouth tingling.

“And how does my name make you feel?”

“…”

There was a long pause of silence, their eyes locked as the both of them refused to break eye contact first. Afterall, the both of them are incredibly stubborn…even despite their current situation. Too busy drowning in the imperial’s endless brown irises, Ulfric had unconsciously loosened his grip as he began to submit to the aroma that made his head swim—

Without even granting him the chance to blink, Tullius’ hands slipped free and he swung an arm around the blond’s neck to pull him down and greedily devour his lips. The nord froze stiff in response to the attack on his senses,

_‘This is so wrong.’_

After a few stuttered heartbeats, he slowly complied to the general who sought deeper entrance with the brush of his tongue,

_‘He’s your enemy’_

The imperial’s mouth was impossibly hot, and their lip lock got sloppier when the nord began to dominate their dance. Sunkissed arms wrapped around the Stormcloak’s back who hiked a hand up the dark skin of his thigh, all the while sucking on the imperials tongue that elicited a pleasured groan.

‘ ** _Stop’_**

As if he were dunked in cold water, Ulfric’s eyes shot open and he pulled away, gasping for breath as he ran a hand through his mussed locks. Tullius looked confused for a moment, and then frowned while he too struggled for air. Emerald eyes frantically searched the room as he struggled for his words; he had to put an end to this before they both did something they would regret. Finally, he met the imperial’s gaze once again and he began to speak,

“I—”

“You said you would only ask one thing.” The general hissed and grabbed Ulfric’s collar, yanking him close so he could lean into his ear,

“Don’t make me beg.”

His hot breath tickled, and the nord felt his resolve begin to crumble as a pit of fire slowly pooled in his stomach. It seemed like the imperial was far past the point of reason, yet he persisted despite his hands already being planted on the generals exposed hips,

“We _can’t_ —”

_“Please alpha.”_

That was the last straw, and the blond could no longer shake off the cloud of lust that beckoned him. It was no use, Ulfric couldn’t think straight through the intoxicating scent of the imperial that began to cling to the air heavily. Soon any thought of reason dissolved as he couldn’t understand why he _shouldn’t_ be returning the imperials passionate efforts. Tullius demanded entrance to his mouth once more and the nord responded enthusiastically. Letting their tongues and teeth clash, Ulfric busied his hands with exploring every bare inch of the imperial’s beautiful dark skin.

_The dragonborn was right; Politics be damned._

\----

Rikke flinched at the first whimper that resembled a moan and a dark shade of embarrassment dusted her pale cheeks. Guessing the emitted noise wasn’t born of pain, the legate slipped out of the hall as swiftly as possible. Rikke tripped on her feet a couple of times in her rush to flee, fighting the little voice that told her to go back. _Just in case._

The woman shook her head, gritting her teeth in an emotion she couldn’t place. For now, she was simply in shock.

**‘He’s not in danger, Ulfric won’t hurt him.’**

Too busy repeating this phrase like a mantra, the nord failed to notice the dainty footsteps rounding the corner.

_She didn’t know that the general could make such a debased sound…_

Lost in her thoughts, it was too late to stop the inevitable collision with the jarl of solitude who carried a cup of steaming, herbal tea. Arngeir probably helped her make it. The woman in fine attire gasped at the sudden splash of hot liquid soaking through the fabric she wore. Luckily, Rikke was able to snap a hand out behind and around her back to prevent her from joining the now shattered ceramic on the floor.

_‘Damn it. That’s now number two of the dishes we’ve already broken in one day under the greybeard’s hospitality’_ the legate tallied mentally

“My apologies your highness, are you alright?” The legate made sure that Elisif was steady on her feet before stepping away to maintain a respectful distance.

“No need to worry about me, I should have been more careful.” Elisif refused to meet the soldier’s eyes as she dusted off her robes, she was still shaken up from earlier. Her sad downturned eyes met the broken dish on the floor and she kneeled to scoop up the remnants, but Rikke quickly dropped to her knees to pick up the bits of ceramic instead,

“You might injure yourself, allow me.”

The jarl bit her lip and laced her hands behind her back as she waited awkwardly until the soft scraping of the debris ended. Rikke stood back up and settled for cradling the broken shards in her cupped palms, standing in the way of the corridor in which she fled.

“Were you bringing this to the general?” Rikke asked hesitantly as she glanced at the entrance to the great hall.

Elisif shifted on her feet for a moment, reluctance evident in her voice,

“I—wanted to see how he was doing.”

  
The imperial soldier sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, ‘ _how in the name of Talos am I supposed to explain this!?’_ ,

“The general…doesn’t want to see anyone right now…” Rikke lied partially, the pit of uneasiness returning to her stomach. Even she didn’t entirely know what he was up to, but she wasn’t about to barge in and find out. Besides, she used to trust Ulfric once, maybe it was time to open that gate again; he’d proven himself more than enough in the few hours she spent with him.

“Has his condition gotten worse?” The jarl’s eyebrows were quick to pinch with concern, the permanent expression of worry creasing her forehead.

“No, he just requested privacy while he…recovers…”

Elisif tried to hide the look of doubt that struck her expression but she was seen right through. Afterall, Rikke was never good at lying; there was a reason why she was known for an honest reputation. She couldn’t keep a secret from anyone; It was only a matter of time before this one slipped too.

“Then where is _he_?” Her voice was spitting venom on the last syllable that rolled off her tongue, and it didn’t take much for Rikke to understand who the jarl was referring to…

_‘Quick, think!’_

“Ulfric—uh…went to sleep…” The legate’s tone of reluctance told the Jarl a different story, and she raised a brow in suspicion, but before the dainty woman could open her mouth to call this farce, Rikke swiftly shifted the conversation,

“Why don’t I accompany you back to dinner?” The legate urged with a forced smile, putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder to spin her around in the opposite direction after hearing a second suspicious noise from the corridor she desperately wanted to get away from. There was an echo following their out of sync footsteps as Elisif led the way to the dining hall which served the same location as the conference table that hosted the peace council.

Rikke hissed at the spike of pain blooming in the palm of her hand, and she looked down at the bleeding flesh of her palm in which she’d clenched the broken ceramic shards. It was a habit to dig her nails in the pads of her hands when she was stressed, even if she was holding sharp debris apparently…

Elisif looked down at the legate’s palm and her breath caught in alarm,

“Elenwen come quick!” She gasped urgently gripping Rikke’s arm with concern, and the high elf lazily made her way over with a glass of wine swaying in her gloved hand,

“What’s with the commotion, I was in the middle of what these hermits call dinner.”

“We need your healing magic! Rikke hurt herself on some shards.”

The ambassador took a sip of the alto wine with a grimace, it was nothing like the spiced wine from the riches of solitude but it would serve the same purpose in getting her drunk as quickly as possible. Elenwen lowered the glass and held her hand out expectantly, Elisif was quick to yank the confused, nord’s arm under the elf’s glowing palm. There was a soothing warmth and then…nothing; the stinging cuts had all but vanished!

_  
So, this was magic…_

Rikke looked at her palm in awe while the jarl dragged her over to her seat at the table. The smell of cabbage soup garnished with bread and cheese reminded the legate of the lack of food in her stomach. But above anything else, she was quick to request some much needed ale, which she showed no hesitation to chug from the tankard that Arngeir had passed her. It had been a long day and if at all possible, she was hoping that some good old nord mead would aid her with an absence of memory.

  
“Ugh that was exhausting, and now I’m out of wine.” The high elf’s complaints of the strenuous use of her magicka, and sudden drought of liquor had Arngeir fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

A heavy silence settled over the table and Elisif attempted to make some light conversation,

  
“So Arngeir, how do you guys manage to get your supplies? It was very generous to invite us to supper.”

“There are many travelling pilgrims who will leave offerings at our doorstep.” The old man explained curtly while blowing on the steaming spoonful of broth and cabbage. The other three monks followed suit; nodding their heads in agreement.

Elisif looked at Rikke for help with rekindling the dying conversation, said nord was currently taking a swig of freshly poured ale from an old, iron tankard.

“I imagine you don’t have guests often, what do you do to occupy yourselves?” The legate stepped in with a swipe across her lips after setting the mug down on the stone table. Elisif followed her example with renewed enthusiasm as her eyes lit up with excitement and her hands clapped together,

“Maybe we could play a game of sorts?”

The hooded monk looked up from his dinner and folded his hands together.

_Finally, his chance to get some peace and quiet._

“We meditate on the way of the voice.”

A fresh cork popped loose from a green bottle as Elenwen poured herself another glass of wine, openly stating her exhaustion with this conversation, while the two other women at the table exchanged hesitant looks.

_This was going to be a long night…_

\----

He didn’t know when exactly his clothes had come off, but at least he was certain that they were strewn somewhere on the stone floor. The intense heat of the room was dizzying, and the heavy scent of lust clung in the air like a thick fog. All he could hear was the desperate moans he tore out of the body beneath him with every thrust of his hips. Through the haze of instinct, he sensed the feeling of fingers curling into his wild blond hair, their grip tightening as he sought deeper into the tight heat that clenched around him.

_“nngh…”_

  
The legs perched on his shoulders trembled under his ruthless attentions that managed to nail a sensitive spot, and they threatened to slip from the slick sheen of sweat coating their bodies. Ulfric dragged his hands up from the imperial’s bony hips to resituate his grip by grabbing the underside of his bent knees, achieving a higher tier of pleasure with the new freedom of movement.

_It was hot. Too hot._

The new angle had Tullius crying out in ways he didn’t know he could. He’d long since given up on biting back his vocal pleasure the minute the alpha penetrated his body, as Ulfric seemed determined to hear each and every noise that escaped his lips even if it were so much as a faint whimper. It was involuntary of course, but he wasn’t in the proper state of mind to consider just how much he was embarrassing himself. Either way the blond seemed more than pleased to hear the encouraging sounds of ecstasy, and he rewarded the imperial with praise in the form of extra attention to those sweet spots.

Every drag of his hips demanded more, _more, **more**_ and the general internally struggled to follow his alpha’s orders of keeping his release at bay until he was given permission.

A bead of sweat dripped from the Stormcloaks brow when he forcefully thrust deeper, and the imperial scrambled to find purchase on the pale skin of his broad back as his toes curled at the ends of his sun kissed legs. Tullius felt his breath stutter with the suddenly increasing thickness at the base of the nord’s hard cock. Ulfric didn’t falter, in fact, the temp of his thrusts only quickened as he continued to piston his hips tirelessly. With every push and pull, the thickening shaft dragged on his entrance just a bit longer until it became unbearably tight. The imperial began to squirm in discomfort as he was stretched in ways he’d never experienced before, but a strong pair of hands braced at his hips pulled him forward to keep him from fleeing.

Tullius let out a hoarse shout from deep within his throat at the force of the member breaching him as the nord began to roughly pull him down all the way to the hilt. Of course, with the knot forming at the base of the alpha’s cock this was difficult, and the imperial had screamed himself raw from the pressure when Ulfric finally succeeded. The imperial’s vision flickered and he could only quiver in response to his alphas release that flooded his insides, soothing the heat that had been burning deep inside his stomach.

There was nothing left of his voice when the nord finally reached down between their joined bodies to stroke and tug on his member until Tullius was finally granted the bliss of climax. It rippled through him in waves as Ulfric continued to grind inside to tease his inner walls further, to which he responded by reflexively clamping down tight on his cock after he spilled over his stomach. The blond let out a husky groan following a second splash of seed to roll through the imperial’s low belly.

Still desperately trying to catch his breath, Tullius shakily dropped his legs on either side of the nord between them who insisted on marking his body with love-bites. His knee bumped the half empty bottle of wildflower oil that they’d found in the armoire, which then served a rather lewd purpose. The movement tugged on his entrance painfully, which caused Ulfric to lazily roll his hips until he reached his third peak, in turn triggering the imperial’s second. Both of them locked eyes the instant the burning sensation returned not ten minutes later; the alpha had slipped free from the tight heat of the imperial, but they both knew that the night was far from over.

\---

“I don’t understand the appeal of this nonsense!”

Elisif and Rikke equally exhaled in frustration towards the complaining elf staged on her feet, who was cradling her umpteenth glass of wine for the night.

“Elenwen, it’s called a _game_ for a reason, it’s not supposed to make sense.” The legate huffed irritably; she knew this was a bad idea the minute her majesty leaned in to whisper the bright idea of playing charades. Of course, Elenwen was making it more difficult than it had to be, and everyone was beginning to think it’d have been better if they’d joined the greybeards in their meditation and locked the wasted elf in one of the guest rooms.

“How am I supposed to act out the behavior of a dragon!? Do I _look_ like I have wings?” The Thalmor ambassador scoffed making the motion of flapping her arms, resulting in another round of sighs from the other women slumped on the stone bench in defeat. Luckily the elf’s glass was empty, otherwise they’d all be doused in the fragrant wine.

  
“Elenwen you’re not supposed to give it away.” Rikke groaned in exasperation, clearly fed up with her drunken antics.

_“This is ridiculous—”_

“Ok! How about Rikke and I do the acting and you can guess?” Elisif suggested, interrupting another pointless spiel about the meaningless game they so desperately sought to keep themselves distracted. Without another word, Elenwen plopped in Rikke’s place on the bench while the legate rose to grab a strip of inscribed paper from the wicker basket. Upon unfolding the note, the nord grimaced and looked to Elisif for guidance,

“I might need your help with this my jarl.”

_“Elisif.”_ The woman in question corrected; she wanted this to be a casual night without any titles so that they could all relax, but it was difficult for the soldier to break her script.

“Right.”

The dainty jarl rose from her seat and stepped over to peer down at the paper that Rikke cradled in her hand.

“This should be easy enough, just follow my lead!” Elisif exclaimed in enthusiasm, she’d always been one for theatrics and an avid supporter of the Bard’s College nestled in solitude, hence their current situation.

Elenwen looked between them with disinterest and mourned the emptiness of her goblet, as the hermits had confiscated the rest of the wine bottles before retiring for the evening.

“Ready?”

The elf snapped her head up at the sound of the jarl’s expectant voice, and replied with a lazy wave of her hand. Elisif took a deep breath and then struck a pose, the soldier awkwardly copying her the best she could. The two mocked a sour expression and Elenwen could already begin to guess that their task was to represent a fight of some sorts, which she blurted without sparing a moment of hesitation. However, her outburst was rejected by the jarl’s shake of her head and they went back to acting. Rikke then followed Elisif’s example of crossing her arms and the elf shouted again,

“Annoyed!”

Now it was the legates turn to shake her head in disagreement; Elenwen was beginning to notice the signs of genuine annoyance. The Thalmor crossed her arms and grumbled,

“Well it’s not my fault you suck at this!”

Rikke scowled in response, turning to the elf irately,

“Well it’s not _my fault_ that you’re slower than a drunk horker!”

Elisif looked between them as they made the slip of paper stating that they must reenact an argument come to life, however, they broke character to achieve this…maybe playing charades _was_ a bad idea…

_“You—"_

“Enough! Both of you!”

The bickering duo flinched and looked at the frustrated jarl owlishly; neither of them had ever heard the woman raise her voice that was as gentle as a butterfly’s fluttering wings.

“Honestly, your bickering is worse than Ulfric and the general’s!” Elisif scolded with exasperation, resting her hands on her hips.

“…”

Silence engulfed the room while everyone reflected on the activity that had gone sour, but Rikke could practically hear the cogs turning in the elf’s brain. It was only a matter of time before she figured it out…

“Wait a minute…”

The legate held her breath and steeled herself as she wracked her brain for how she was going to pull this off. It had been much easier with Elisif, as she trusts Rikke to tell her the truth…there’s no harm in bending it…but Elenwen liked to pry and extract details, making it a lot harder for Rikke to keep the general’s secret. The nord clenched her fist in determination, all she had to do was come up with another passable excuse.

_‘I can do this.’_

“Speaking of which, where are those two?” The elf questioned on que and Elisif opened her mouth to reply but quickly stopped her with a raised gloved hand,

“I’d like to hear from Rikke.”

The jarl’s jaw snapped shut and she folded her hands in her lap as she took a seat. Elenwen was gazing expectantly at the imperial soldier, who could practically feel her amber eyes burning through her…

_‘Dammit, think!’_

Rikke tried to remember the phony excuse she gave Elisif and began to reword it,

_‘General Tullius woke up and requested his privacy, while Ulfric was so exhausted from the burden of climbing the mountain, he retired for the evening as well.’_ She paused in thought and ran over her words carefully,

_‘Yeah. Let’s go with that.’_

The words tumbled out of her mouth and the nord refused to let her voice falter, which would give away her uncertainty, but no matter how much effort she put into it, she still got the elf’s brows to furrow in skepticism. Rikke began to worry that the Thalmor ambassador could read her mind, as she already had access to a high power of magic with her healing spell…

Rikke gulped under the elf’s calculating gaze, who very obviously didn’t believe her half-fabricated story.

_‘Am I really that bad at lying!?’_

\---

_It was pure agony._

Following the alpha’s instructions had become nearly impossible after Tullius was flipped over on his stomach. Ulfric had grabbed his hips, pulling his lower half upwards, and spared no hesitation plunging back into the imperial’s tight heat. The position was utterly humiliating, but the heightened pleasure achieved from it made the ordeal worth the embarrassment. Just like his arms had, the imperial’s knees wanted to give out on him badly; his thighs were already straining from holding up his pleasure wracked body, but Ulfric wasn’t one to show mercy. In fact, the only reason why Tullius was able to keep his hips up at all was entirely reliant on the nords strong grip that manipulated how he moved on his swollen arousal.

_“Hnn…!”_

  
The imperial scrabbled to grip at the soft animal hides beneath him when Ulfric suddenly thrust in deeply, and reached down to tease his weeping member. Sun kissed shoulders tensed up as the general fought to keep his release at bay, but the nord drilling him certainly wasn’t making it any easier. Another deep angled thrust had Tullius gasping, and the jerking tug at the base of his cock had him on the brink of climax. He couldn’t take it anymore; the imperial clawed at the pelts beneath him to try and flee the alpha’s ruthless attentions on his wobbly legs. Of course, Ulfric wasn’t going to let him off that easy, and he roughly dragged him back with a forceful yank on his hips. A shiver wracked the generals frame when he felt a gruff chuckle against the skin of his neck,

_  
“Where do you think you’re going?”_

A pathetic whimper escaped the generals throat like a cornered animal.

The nord stretched over his body to lace a hand over the Tullius’ clenched fist and dragged his teeth along his nape, releasing his heavy member as punishment. The lips pressed against the imperial’s temple let out a husky whisper,

_“We haven’t even gotten to the best part yet…”_

That’s when he felt it; the alpha’s knot was beginning to expand once more and the imperial braced himself as the intensity increased.

He didn’t expect the second time to be any easier, but it didn’t hurt as much as their first joining. A sudden wave of arousal rippled through his stomach when Ulfric growled his pleasure in the imperial’s ear, signaling his release. Tullius waited for the blond to reach down and bring him off, but he never stopped working his hips, instead slowing down the pace. The imperial let out a sob from the stimulation it brought, and he found himself clawing the bedding once more. Ulfric was already big enough, and his knot was no exception, so it didn’t help that he wouldn’t stop forcing himself even deeper. A whimper escaped the imperial’s throat which turned into a gasp when a sensitive bundle of nerves was struck. Tullius could no longer feel his limbs as everything went numb from the agonizing pleasure drowning his senses, and he buried his face in the fur pillow beneath him in frustration.

He didn’t know if he could last another second, and a pleading cry from deep within his throat finally caught the blond’s mercy. Ulfric reached down, feathering a hand over his sensitive belly, and began to languidly stroke him from beneath. Tullius didn’t last long with the combined attack of the nord’s lazy grinding and the gentle attentions to his aching arousal. When he finally stopped trembling, the imperial collapsed on the stone bed, panting heavily as his lungs demanded air. Ulfric was still busy filling him up and eventually Tullius passed out from the pleasure and exhaustion, only to wake up some time later to a cup tilted at his dry lips.

A pair of pale green eyes demanded that he drink the water and Tullius found that he couldn’t refuse. The water was sweet on his tongue and it trickled down his parched throat—the hoarseness of his voice began to clear. Of course, this wouldn’t last long; the prickling sensation in the depths of his stomach had returned with a vengeance, coaxing the alpha to aide him once more…

\----

“Elenwen please, the general needs his rest!” Elisif persisted on the quick heels of the high elf that refused to listen. The jarl had reached out to grab the sleeve of her robe and she finally turned around furiously, an open flame dancing ambiently in her palm,

“You two are fools! For all we know they could both be dead!” there was a stunned silence and Rikke was quick to step in between Elenwen’s magic and the dainty nord, her brow creased with eminent worry. The legate opened her mouth to retaliate in Elisif’s place; Afterall, this was never her fight to begin with,

“I assure you they aren’t—”

  
“How can you be certain?” Her amber eyes had narrowed and the augmented flame began to charge itself in the elf’s cradled hand.

“Because I—”

The elf had raised her brow as the legate’s words died in her throat, her voice trailing off to a whisper.

“…Well?” Elenwen urged, watching the woman struggle with her words after her mouth snapped shut. Now Elisif was intrigued, and with the added set of questioning eyes, Rikke began to feel her composure break. The legate began to chew at her cheek in a fit of nerves, the heat of the fire was beginning to spread warmth to her face,

‘Ulfric, you owe me big time.’

“Because, I jammed the door shut. No one is getting in or out of the general’s room.” Rikke lied with confidence lacing her voice, propping her hands on her hips defensively. Elenwen blinked, her expression dropped and was replaced with a nonchalant façade. There was a moment of indefinite stillness, that is until the elf abruptly spoke,

“My apologies.” The elf mused as she dusted her palm on the fabric of her robe after extinguishing the flame with a closed fist.

“Shall we retire for the evening? your silly games are quite taxing.”

Elisif opened her mouth to protest, as the night was still young, but the legate smoothly interrupted her,

“Right. Lead the way.” Her jaw was set tightly and a wave of uncertainty began to curdle in the pit of her stomach. Of course, the legate’s gut was telling her that the Thalmor agent was plotting something with her conniving features; the problem, was that Rikke had no idea _what_ exactly…

What she did know, is that the elf was conveniently sober for the entire situation despite her outburst in the other room, and she gave up the fight almost too easily…

Elenwen spun on her heel and began to stroll in the direction where the general was currently “resting”, and the armored nord snapped a hand out to tug on her elbow. The elf halted in place to peek behind her shoulder, it always bothered Rikke that she was taller than her, and she saw the legate pointing in the opposite direction.

“Our rooms are that way.”

Elenwen’s lips curled into a smirk and she yanked her arm away after being corrected,

_“My mistake.”_

\----

“Rikke, are you really going to sleep in your armor?” Elisif asked incredulously after setting her circlet on the end table, dressed in only the sheer under-gown that was the inner layer of her fine robes.

“How else would I sleep?”

“Like a normal person?”

  
“Well, I have to be on my guard no matter what.”

  
A loud snort ripped through the air and the two women quickly buttoned up in alarm. Their heads collectively turned to the lump of animal hides on the furthest bed against the wall, and closest to the hearth. Buried beneath was none other than Elenwen who was currently snoring like a bear in hibernation.

“I didn’t know that she snored...” Elisif’s voice had dropped to a surprised whisper, the legate doing likewise while sitting on her own stone bed,

“Well she did drink enough to even put general Tullius to shame.” The legate jested, referring to how drunk he was coming back from the party at the Thalmor embassy that Elenwen forced him to attend; purely, to keep up appearances with their connection to the empire. Naturally, he wasn’t too happy being used as a symbol of power, and he drank himself stupid to the point where he called the elf a two-faced bitch and knocked over her favorite vase in front of her noble guests. Legate Rikke could barely hold back her laughter after arriving to escort him back to castle dour; he fell off of his horse twice in a fumbling attempt to feign diligence even though he couldn’t see straight.

The two women basked in the mirth over the fact that Tullius was now banned from consumption of alcohol at the Thalmor embassy, specifically his favorite: colovian brandy. It wasn’t exactly his proudest moment…but it really made for a great story. If he ever found out that the legate had shared this detail with Elisif the moment they returned that memorable night, they’d both be dead. Feeling content with the laughter that warmed their spirits, Rikke decided it was a good note to end on,

“You should get some rest your majesty.” Rikke whispered with a wide grin, so as to not wake the sleeping Elf, her voice still hinting a faint chuckle.

“ _Elisif_ , and are you going to be comfortable like that?”

“Don’t worry about me my jar—er…Elisif…”

Their conversation came to a dead end after Rikke swung her legs onto the stretch of the small single bed and curled up to face the other direction. The jarl’s light heart sunk while she reluctantly shuffled under her own fur blankets and turned on her side—back tensed as she stared at the crackling fire. Rikke knew the poor widow had trouble sleeping after she had lost Torygg, but she couldn’t let her stall any longer with conversation. Afterall, what was the fair jarl of Solitude without a flawless complexion and a well-rested mindset?

\----

Rikke had always been a light sleeper, so it was no surprise to her when she woke with a start in the dimly lit room. Groggily sitting up she noted that the embers in the hearth were beginning to die out, but at least Elisif was sound asleep, meaning that it had been a couple hours at most. However, her main concern was the empty bed on the adjacent wall, and the legate was on her feet in seconds. She could still hear the light patter of rushed footsteps, that were masked by the lack of shoe soles, as the sly elf had left her boots behind. Moving stealthily as she could in her bulky armor, Rikke made quick work of tailing the woman out the door in the direction that she feared, the opposite corridor. Dancing torchlight cast long shadows against the walls and gave away her position; it was no use to keep cover now as Elenwen was already in front of the general’s door.

_‘Gods…I knew I should’ve kept my eye on her, what kind of lunatic sleeps in their armor—…nevermind…’_

The elf had just cracked open the door to peek inside, when suddenly Rikke had snapped a hand out to clench the fabric covering her back; spinning around, she slamming her against the opposite wall. Unfortunately, what the Thalmor agent laid her amber eyes on could not be unseen, and the ghastly shock written all over the nosy ambassador’s face told it all.

“I don’t even want to know what you saw but let’s get one thing clear—”

Elenwen gulped at the fury blazing in the nord’s hazel eyes, and she opened her mouth to hoarsely whisper in premature response as usual,

“We do not speak of this…”

**“You’re damn right.”**

“…”

Rikke slowly loosened her grip on the ambassador’s robes and she finally released her, giving both of them more room to breathe. The high elf was speechless, the image of the two leaders at war engaging in intimacies that should never occur between each other was now the only thing she could see with every blink…

“Well? Did you get what you wanted; even if your prying cost you your shame?” The legate sneered venomously, irritated by the fact that nothing could have prevented this; one way or another Elenwen would find out on her own terms. It was only a matter of time, but at least now she lost something in exchange for the forbidden knowledge; the bliss of ignorance. Not to mention, what a sight it was to see the ambassador’s pompous attitude stripped away and reduced to the flustered elf now fidgeting in front of her.

“I made a mistake attending this meeting.” The high elf hissed under her breath as she refused to lift her eyes from the ground. Rikke could barely hear the childish mumbling and she tapped her ear with a smirk,

“…Can you speak up?”

“This was all just a farce to humiliate me!” She was fuming now, her fists clenched at her sides and the olive skin of her cheeks flushed darkly. The legate held back a burst of laughter, and realized that this probably wasn’t the best place to be arguing after remembering that Elenwen had interrupted

something rather private. Rikke urgently pulled at the Thalmor agent’s sleeve and ushered her out of the hallway, the elf didn’t make it any easier by protesting with all of her might.

“Get your hands off of me!”

The nord frowned and began to squeeze her bony wrist even tighter to wring out another reaction; it was just too tempting.

“I won’t let you pull me around like this! You’ve taken this game of charades too far!” Elenwen snapped, pinching the legate’s wrist to push her away as if she were filthy and quickly opened her palm to summon an open flame that dared any further advances.

“What does charades have to do with any of this? Maybe if you had just stayed out of everyone’s business, this whole situation could have been avoided!”

“Their “ _business_ ” is the only reason why I’m here, and not playing games with _you_ idiots!” Elenwen slurred when she began to mock the legate, and that gave the nord a new pressure point to poke at,

“Wha—wait a minute are you still _drunk_?”

“No, you skeever-brain!”

_“That does it—!!”_

There was a fragile yet strong hand wrapped around the nord’s bicep just as she was about to deliver a punch to the elf’s prized cheekbones, and she looked down at the frowning Elisif who was very disheveled from the interruption of her beauty sleep. The jarl’s eyes scolded the pair as she spoke leaving a doubled effect of disappointment,

“What did I say about bickering like children? Legate Rikke, you’re better than this; general Tullius would be very disappointed were he to see this behavior.” Elisif chided, her heavy tone inflicting a painful sting in the nord’s heart, despite her accusations being true. Elenwen snickered off to the side, and the dainty woman whirled on her with just as much fury,

“Elenwen, perhaps I should revisit with Falk-firebeard on the details of the deed to your embassy, I can’t have conflict rising within my own court while you reside in Haafingar.”

The elf frowned and crossed her arm’s, the jarl was known for her lighthearted nature, but it was a deadly mistake to cross her kindness…

“Now, I’d be willing to forgive the both of you, but I expect an apology.”

It was difficult to take Elisif seriously, donned in only the fabric of her sheer-gown and unkempt hair, but their equal fondness for the kind woman kept them on their toes. Rikke was the first one to gain the courage, Elenwen following before she could even get the words out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

“My apologies.”

Unfortunately, they were begging forgiveness from the wrong person, and Elisif continued to look displeased despite their efforts. The jarl began to tap her foot and she placed her hands on her hips,

“Don’t apologize to _me_ , I want _you two_ to get along.”

Rikke and Elenwen reluctantly looked at each other, and the legate repressed the urge to slap the smirk off of the elf’s face.

“Well, I’m waiting.” The Thalmor agent urged, giving the nord the stage who had bowed her head in embarrassment.

“…Sorry… _bitch_ ”

_“What was that you—”_

Elisif cleared her throat and gestured for Elenwen to make her own amends; the elf sighed heavily and gave in,

“I apologize. There, happy now?”

“Good! Now hug it out!” The jarl rejoiced, clapping her hands together with a cheery smile,

_“What?”_

_“Excuse me?”_

In hopes that the woman was surely joking, Elenwen and Rikke turned to look at her owlishly.

_She was asking the impossible here._

One look into Elisif’s eyes only confirmed that this was no jest, and she waited patiently for the pair to put aside their differences and “hug it out”. With a bitter grimace the legate looked at the elf who was staring back at her with an equal expression of disgust. The room went silent; save for the crackling flames of the torches, and the howling winds outside of the fortress. It had to be near sunrise and Rikke wasn’t about to stay up to watch the hues of the sky change, as she desperately wanted to get more sleep before they had to brave the descent of the mountain. Hoping to get the ordeal over with, the legate bravely opened her arms and reluctantly welcomed the elf. Elenwen dropped her eyebrows and looked back at the jarl who gestured for her to “go on” with an encouraging smile. The ambassador held her breath and tensely leaned into the loose embrace of the imperial soldier, but not before she had anything to say about it,

“I still hate you.”

“likewise.” The nord grunted and decided to start pushing the elf away, but a second pair of arms, wrapping around their waists had both the legate and Elenwen jumping in shock.

“Group hug!” Elisif cheered and spared no hesitation to squeeze her arms with all her might.

_“I hate this.”_ Elenwen interjected a second time in reference to the jarl’s arms crushing the two enemies together against their will; meanwhile, Rikke remained silent, stiff as a statue,

“…”

“Oh, come on you guys love it!” The jarl grinned brightly after she pulled away to snicker at the flustered pair who were both finding it difficult to direct their anger at the dainty woman.

“Ok, I’m going back to sleep, I hope this was all just some wild nightmare.” The legate spoke to no one in particular and waved her hand as she hastily strolled out of the room.

“Now you’re starting to sound like Elenwen! My group hug worked!” Elisif clenched her fists in excitement, and picked up her step to catch up with the mortified nord on her chilled, bare feet. Of course, the elf in question was quick to pitch a fit,

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re a—”

_“Ladies!”_

“…”

When they returned to their chambers, Elenwen reignited the hearth and slipped beneath her blankets for the second time that night, back turned to the other two in the room.

“Rikke?” Elisif whispered from her own stone bed, head already cushioned by a rolled pillow. The nord stopped her task in the middle of lifting up the animal hides and gave the jarl her attention with a hum.

“What were you and Elenwen fighting about, and why were you guys up so early?”

“…”

There was a long, awkward pause while the legate shifted under the blankets and laid comfortably on her side until she spoke again,

“Elisif?”

“Yes?” the woman was eager in response, but her enthusiasm wilted at Rikke’s next string of words,

“Get some sleep.”

The jarl bit back the urge to sigh, it wasn’t ladylike, and settled for staring up at the stone ceiling while the ambient crackling of fire sang in her ears.

\---

_There was something heavy on his chest that was causing his ragged breathing, not to mention the intense pressure between his legs._

The blond nord flinched awake, filthy with sweat and…other things, but he was remarkably sated. Opening his eyes Ulfric looked around the room that he never left, there was no way to tell what time _or_ day it was without a window. Forgetting about the heavy weight on his body, the Stormcloak shifted, only to groan deeply in pleasure.

_Right_. He was still knotted with…

“Oh gods…”

That fine white hair and sun kissed skin…It was no mistake that he had spent a passionate evening with the imperial legion’s general; courtesy of the vivid images that began to come flooding back to him in waves. Ulfric was suddenly overcome with a strong thirst, and his eyes searched the room for the cup of water that he remembered setting on the end table. The sudden movement pulled on his sensitive length still buried in the imperial, and he couldn’t stop the husky moan that ripped out of his throat. Considering that Tullius could wake up any minute equally parched, Ulfric stopped himself from downing the entire cup in one gulp. The water was refreshing and cleared the blond’s head as he began to realize—there was no way out of this.

Deciding that he should wait their joining out rather than forcing it along faster by moving his hips, the nord distracted himself with the various fresh bites and scratches marring the general’s body that joined old battle scars. Guilt washed over Ulfric when his eyes landed on the puncture at the dark skin of his neck. The wound was deeper, and messier than the rest, but what made it worse is knowing that he was the cause of it…

The urge to lean down and lap at the broken skin was too tempting as an alpha, and Ulfric found himself sucking on the imperials shoulder until he deemed it clean enough. This caused Tullius to clamp down on his knot and whimper from the painful sensitivity. Out of curiosity, the blond traced a hand down the imperial’s chest and over the swell of his stomach. To his surprise the general was in remarkable shape, and the nord pressed a hand over the bump where his knot was locked and pushed down, immediately causing Tullius to cry out and tense painfully on his member. He shivered violently and the imperial coiled his legs up before the tension suddenly released and the blond was able to slip free. Gently easing the general off of his lap and onto the hide covered bed, the nord got up on his weakened legs to grab the basin of water and cloths that they had been using to treat his fever.

The imperial didn’t even squirm under the attentions of the chilled water that began to scrub at his marks of passion. Ulfric then wiped himself off and was debating whether or not he should wrestle himself into his clothes before they bathe—

****

**_Knock, Knock_ **

Ulfric went frozen stiff, of course, he’d forgotten that they weren’t alone in the fortress at the peak of the tallest mountain in Skyrim…

****

**_Knock, Knock_ **

Wracking his brain, the blond began to chew at his lip as he tried to conjure an excuse for their current situation. It was simple, there wasn’t one…what’s done is done. The nord sighed heavily at the second pair of knocks that pleaded entrance, and he raised his voice to be heard through the door,

_“Just a second!”_

There was a panicked shuffle of footsteps, and when Ulfric finally found some plain robes in the cupboard, he opened the door to the exhaustion stricken Elisif who had just begun to turn away. The tall nord skillfully leaned against the doorframe, blocking the dainty woman from seeing the spent imperial exposed on the hide covered bed of stone. He crossed his arms and looked at the well-dressed jarl who was chewing her lip in a fit of nerves; when she gained the courage to speak, her eyes remained downcast to study her shoes,

“I—I thought this was the general’s room…”

Ulfric quirked a brow and then realized that there were multiple rooms in the corridor; in hopes that she hadn’t checked the others yet, he fabricated a lie,

“You’ve got the right place but he’s still asleep.”

“Then…why are you here, and why do you smell so bad?”

The nord frowned when the woman’s nose wrinkled in disgust, he didn’t take offense to it, but he was more concerned that he didn’t exactly have an excuse…

“Are you always this belligerent in the morning, or do you not remember climbing the steps all the way up the mountain? I was actually just on my way to the bath.” The jarl of Windhelm remarked and uncrossed his arms as the words continued to roll off of his tongue,

“This was the only room with beds; after nursing your precious general back to health all night, naturally I fell asleep here.”

“…well…is it alright if I come in to replace the water?” Elisif’s voice raised faintly to be heard while she shuffled her feet.

“That won’t be necessary.” Ulfric dismissed the weary nord and went to close the door so that he could get Tullius dressed in something other than blankets, but a powerful protest interrupted him,

“ ** _I_** — _ahem_ …want to help the general, not _you_.” Elisif stammered after her slight outburst, her hands balled into determined fists at her sides. Shocked at the dainty woman’s tenacity, the jarl of Windhelm found himself blanking on an excuse to get her as far away as possible; he was afraid that Tullius would wake up either in a rage or some form of tension any second—either outcome would not be pretty for the both of them. Nevertheless, his quick thinking saved him any further embarrassment under the wary blue eyes of solitude,

“Very well, I— _He_ , could use your assistance with finding a change of clothes.”

“What’s wrong with his armor?” Elisif countered almost instantly.

“We had to remove it to ease his fever.”

“We?” Elisif repeated with suspicion, her lips falling back into a frown,

“That would be Rikke and I.” his voice was laced with exasperation, and Elisif took that as her cue,

“…I see, I’ll do my best to find something fitting for the general, but before I go…”

“Hm?” Ulfric turned back around to face the petite figure, his hand gripping the doorframe.

“Can I see him?”

“No, he still…needs more rest.”

The jarl bit her lip in disappointment, all she wanted was to know for herself that he was in good health; she had an issue with separation ever since… _Torygg_. A pang went through her chest at the memory of her husband and she held back tears; it hurt that she was speaking with the very man who took his life, their tone nothing but casual as if there wasn’t the hypothetical mammoth in the room.

_‘Be brave Elisif’_

Elisif wiped her eyes when the blond closed the door, and she straightened up with a fiery resolution gleaming in her eyes,

“Clothes, where would clothes be…” The woman mused as she wandered off to disturb Arngeir’s meditation.

\----

Ulfric sighed behind the closed door and leaned on the wall, watching the idle general sleep peacefully. He dragged a hand over his face and decided he should stop stalling and attempt to wrestle the imperial back into some robes that were luckily an abundance of spares in the armoire. The fabric wasn’t the softest, and it was something he hadn’t worn in a long time—ever since he left the fortress to serve in the great war. However, the clothing would serve the same purpose as his fine robes; lifting one of Tullius’ dark arms, Ulfric slipped the fabric of the robe over his head and fit his arm through one sleeve, following the other. It was worrisome that the imperial wasn’t putting up as much as a fight as he thought he would, and the blond leaned down to listen to his healthy heartbeat. Ulfric’s ear had barely reached the general’s chest when a knock at the door startled him upright. Before he answered the door, he made sure that Tullius was still asleep. After confirming this, he swung open the rickety wooden panels to see Rikke holding a folded pile of clothes; she immediately began to explain herself, curious hazel eyes transfixed on his neck,

“I ran into Elisif.”

The tall nord nodded silently in response and stepped out of the way to welcome her into the room. Rikke showed no ounce of hesitation in walking through the door frame to brush past Ulfric after handing him the fresh clothes.

“ _By the gods_ , what did you two do to each other?” Rikke exclaimed after seeing the crimson teeth ring marring the dark skin of the imperial’s neck.

“What?”

“You’ve got one just like it, have you not noticed?”

“…” Ulfric quietly reached a hand up to massage the suddenly tender area of his collar after swiping his hand roughly over the matching wound,

“I think these are our bond-marks.” Ulfric explained after some deep thought back to the nordic text he was reading; something about the crevice where the shoulder meets the neck being the ideal place for claiming a mate.

“Your _what_?”

“Well to choose a mate, an alpha will mark their neck, so when we—”

“I get the picture, please don’t explain any further.” The legate deadpanned after standing up from her crouched stance at the general’s bedside.

“Right.”

“You guys both _reek_.” Rikke complained with a wrinkle of her nose after catching a whiff of the air in the musty room; Ulfric merely rolled his eyes, behavior not fit for a jarl—then again, none of this was…

“You’re not the first one to tell me that, I do plan to bathe, but I needed spare clothes first.”

“There’s a bath here?”

“Yes, there’s a natural hot spring in the lower chamber.”

“ _Of course_ you knew that and kept it from us.” The legate griped and crossed her arms defensively, the metal of her armor scraping up a ruckus.

“Well I don’t think Arngeir would be too happy to find out that his hospitality has extended to his private bathing chambers.”

“You’ve got a point, but how is he supposed to keep himself up?” Rikke mused in reference to the sleeping general while reaching out a curious hand to touch the wound on his neck; that is, until there was a crushing grip on her wrist. The legate winced in pain and looked up at the blond’s fiery green eyes shadowed by furrowed brows, his mouth snarling a warning,

**“Don’t touch him.”**

With a forceful shove, Ulfric pushed the woman’s hand away, and proceeded to sit the unconscious Tullius upright before hoisting him up, legs wrapped around his waist and his arms supported by the nords strong shoulders. He could feel the soldier’s cold gaze watching him and the jarl turned around gesturing to the folded clothes on the end-table. Rikke bitterly grabbed the pile and followed the nord out the door.

Ulfric led them down another hidden hallway, as their shadows got swallowed by the darkness of the corridor, the pattering of their footsteps were the only thing that remained of them.

\----

The descent dragged on forever, and Rikke had begun to think that the Stormcloak was leading her on a wild goose chase. Thankfully, this was not the case, as Ulfric had finally revealed the steam clouded room through a stone slab of nord technology after pulling a handle in the decorative maw of a dragon. The thick mist was nearly suffocating, but as they advanced further into the expansive chamber, the air cleared to unveil a scenery to behold with awe.

_The legates jaw dropped._

It was absolutely beautiful—Jagged stone walls cradled the waterfall spewing elegantly from a fountain embedded in the nordic architecture on the opposite wall; Stone steps and a walkway led down to the spring pooling beneath the waterfall. Ulfric, encumbered by the imperial laying over his shoulder, strolled passed the shocked woman to a basket of soap and long toweling cloths folded in a neat pile sitting dangerously close to the rim of the pond. Along the poolside, multiple lanterns flickered out of sync with the large overhanging chandelier that encased the blazing flame above them. As Rikke followed the blond already a good step ahead of her, she noticed the blossoms of dragons-tongue and wildflowers scattered along the floor, even some floating in the lazily swishing pond. The room smelled earthy and sweet with the welcoming scent of flowers.

Water sloshed against the gentle pouring of the waterfall after the blond nord who was already bare and exposed began stepping into the pond.

“ _For Talos sake_ , nobody wants to see that!” Rikke shouted which echoed loudly in the cavern walls. Her cheeks were heating up in embarrassment for the general, who was equally naked and being carried like a bride by the brawny nord into the water.

“I don’t remember asking you to stay.” Ulfric replied calmly, and gingerly sat the imperial’s back against the rocky ledge as he sat on the submerged, stone bench.

“Do you really have to carry him like that?” The woman called out to the nord beneath the surface of the clear pond

“If I remember correctly, I was accused of carrying him like a barbarian yesterday, besides what would you rather have me do, just drop him in?” Ulfric ranted, raising a brow after coming up from the water, his blond hair dark with water and pale skin peppered with droplets.

“Yes! Maybe that would have woken him up!” The legate seethed; her hands perched on her hips defensively.

“…”

The nord just turned his back and brushed the heavy locks of hair dripping on his face back behind his head. The water was just what his sore muscles needed after yesterdays…taxing activities…

Rikke shook her head in disapproval and she moved to leave the room but an echoing voice stopped her,

“Thank you for your help.”

“…I’m helping the General, not you.”

“You and Elisif are so alike.”

The legate spun on her heel to face the smirking jarl with the knowledge of her secret and she blushed from head to toe,

“H-How did you—”

“It’s so obvious with the way you look at her.”

Rikke had lowered her head in submission as she bargained with the blond nord,

“...can we keep this between us?”

“Think of it as my repayment for covering for m— _us_ yesterday, I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

The woman bit her lip as she considered telling him that they had an unintentional audience in the early morning, but she didn’t want to admit she’d failed to protect the general’s privacy. With a curt nod the soldier turned on her heel and left the room without another word. No matter how tempting a bath was, sharing it with Ulfric and the general was an absolute negative that weighed out any reasoning.

Pale green eyes watched the figure disappear up the stairs then flicked back over to the imperial propped up on the bench and the ledge of the pond. Ulfric sunk beneath the surface at nose level and he squinted at the dark-skinned general who was beginning to slip deeper off of the bench, as the friction between his back and the ledge that kept him upright had suddenly faltered with the slickness of the water. The nord waded over and grabbed Tullius by the underarms to pull him back up, but not a minute later, the imperial had begun slipping again. With a sigh of frustration, Ulfric decided he should just sit with the general and help wash his hair after running a hand through his own. After finishing up cleaning himself off with the white bar of soap, he swam over to sit on the bench beside Tullius and proceeded to pull him into his lap. A weak protest came in the form of the imperial’s squirming, but ceased as quickly as it came.

Ulfric began to scrub diligently at the imperial’s skin and hair with the bubbling bar until he deemed them both clean enough. Deciding to soak for just a little longer for the sake of his strained muscles, the nord pulled the imperial back into his lap and feathered a hand down beneath the water to trace his solid abdomen. Of course, this was the moment Tullius finally woke up outside of the lust clouded haze…

There was no time to act natural when the nord felt the general stirring in his embrace and his hand froze on his stomach as his mind went blank. A low grumble bubbled from the imperials throat until his no longer dilated dark gemstones of brown opened under the warm light of the fire.

Content was the only feeling that was thrumming though his veins, he’d never achieved such a high tier of comfort before. Tullius allowed himself to revel in the warmth of those strong arms wrapped around his—

_…Whose arms?_

The general tensed as the memories came flooding back; his face flushed in utter humiliation, and the hand on his stomach certainly wasn’t helping. Suddenly he knew who those warm arms, which were tangled around his waist, belonged to—yet he couldn’t find the effort within himself to be bothered by it. Now, it was too late to feign sleep, and as the suffocating silence settled between them, the restless imperial knew he had to say _something,_

“Ulfric…”

“…yes?”

Quiet tension grew between the pair as they acknowledged each other’s compromising presence. Pausing his words, Tullius could only think of one thing to say,

**“What in _oblivion_ did you do to me!?”**

“…do you really want me to answer that…?”

_“I don’t.”_

“Right.”

“Gods, what am I gonna do…” The imperial groaned as he leaned forward to cradle his head in his hands over the steaming water. Ulfric slowly released his grip on the general, who began to wish he hadn’t, and decided to lean back on the ledge of the pond, his arm-span stretched to its full length.

“If you’re that worried about it then don’t tell anyone, Rikke is the only one that knows.” The blond nord sighed lazily to the high ceiling, which seemed to be the wrong bridge to take as the imperial was back to squawking,

****

**_“Who?!”_ **

“You heard me.”

“Well it certainly didn’t help!”

“Will you stop panicking? Because then I’m going to panic.”

“What am I _supposed_ to do!? I just slept with my enemy!”

“…Well we didn’t do much sleeping—”

There was a resonating smack that carried through the cavern when Tullius heavily dropped his head back into the palms of his hands; his next complaint was muffled, but heard by Ulfric nonetheless,

_“You’re not helping!”_

“…”

Another spell of silence stretched between them until the imperial finally decided to break it,

“I’m not mad at you for what happened, I was the one who kept pursuing you—”

“I should’ve—”

“Look, neither of us were in our right mind, let’s just agree this was a mistake and call it good.” Tullius sighed, he couldn’t let Ulfric try and explain himself, in fact, he didn’t even want to dwell on the previous evening. If anything, the general just wanted to return to castle dour as soon as possible and forget that any of this ever happened.

“…agreed.”

“Good.”

The imperial was the first to step out of the spring and wrap a cloth around his waist before putting on a fresh pair of clothes. Tullius decided it’d be best to leave without another word, and the fading pattering of his footsteps told Ulfric just that. The blond nord splashed some water onto his face one last time before rising from the steaming pool, there was still a deep ache in his muscles, but for now it was more of a faint throb…except for the bite mark on his neck being on fire…

That’s when Ulfric began to wonder if their bond marks were going to be a problem; after all, alpha’s mate for life.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope the shenanigans were funny :D I always try to add some humor to my writing, and I didn't want to make this a dragonborn-heavy story, cause I honestly have more fun writing about the characters than my own OC


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Here is another chapter lol, consider it an overdue Christmas present! Sorry I haven't updated for a minute, but thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! omg how did I get here...what am I even writing??

Through the windows of the blue palace a dull grey haze clouded the sea of ghosts, signaling a storm in the near future. Weary blue eyes flicked back to the empty throne room to study the dust floating in the sparing rays of sunlight of the overcast weather. The jarl couldn’t help the sigh escaping her lips, revealing her absolute boredom with her royal duties. Falk-Firebeard glanced over at the woman with a sympathetic look and proceeded to bump Sybille Stentor in the side with an elbow. The court mage turned to him in a fury that was suddenly silenced by the steward leaning into her ear to whisper,

_“Why don’t you and her majesty get some fresh air.”_

It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order, and the woman nodded in agreement before stepping into the jarl’s spaced field of vision.

“My jarl.”

Elisif flinched upright from her slouched position on the throne and gave the hooded mage her full attention,

“Yes?”

“Care to accompany me for a walk to _Angeline’s Aromatics_? I could restock on some supplies, and it’s the perfect weather to do so.” Sybille offered with a welcoming smile, which had the bored jarl nodding with enthusiasm as agreement. She turned on her heel and descended the winding staircase, already hearing the hasty shuffling of the nord who was eager to catch up.

Once Elisif stepped off of the throne’s platform, Falk stepped in her place, his mirthful gaze following the dainty woman until she disappeared down the steps after Sybille.

\----

When the heavy brass door opened, courtesy of the palace guards, the crowned jarl rushed past the gaping soldiers and took in a breath of the fresh salty air. Anything was better than the staleness of the aged castle…

Sybille strolled ahead and pulled back her hood, the clouded weather allowing for her to enjoy the freedom of letting her hair flow in the light breeze. There was a warmth gathering at her arm and the woman looked down to see Elisif hanging onto her as they synced up their step. The mage’s lips quirked slightly upwards, knowing of the jarl’s fondness for affection. It wasn’t necessarily her specialty, as her talents resided in the arcane arts; However, if it made her majesty happy it was worth the awkward hobble they made as they walked down the street...

Civilians paid their respects to their jarl as she lit up the streets with her radiant, youthful, energy. Elisif was even stopped by a few children who asked if she’d like to partake in a game called ‘tag’, but the woman politely declined.

The strong scent of herbs overwhelmed the pair as they stepped into the alchemist’s shop, and an old woman behind the counter greeted them with a tired voice.

“Welcome in, let me know if there’s anything you need help finding.” Angeline smiled to the jarl who offered a kind nod before she went strolling off to look around the shelves. Sybille asked for a few things the jarl could never spell or pronounce, and the shopkeeper handed them over in a green box with a discount for being graced by her majesty’s company. Both royals thanked the old woman once more before leaving the shop to make their way back to the castle.

Or so Sybille thought.

Elisif urgently tugged at the sleeve of her royal blue robe and gestured at the ramp up to castle dour. Finding no excuse to deny her grace, the mage complied, following the nord with the box of fresh ingredients cradled in her hands. When they reached the top of the elevated platform, they passed the blacksmith who waved in his making of imperial steel, wiping the sweat from his brow. Elisif waved back with a soft smile and she eagerly picked up her step, she clearly had a destination in mind. Sybille kept her distance as she observed the petite figure walking straight towards captain Aldis who was talking to—

The mages eyes widened at the sight of general Tullius and she tugged her hood back over her head. Squinting at the general, she discretely cast a spell under the colored box which only confirmed her suspicions.

There was no mistaking it.

Sybille caught up with Elisif who had already grabbed the imperial general’s attention, the mage made an effort to stay a few steps back and give the jarl her space. Marrow stepped aside and bowed his head to the royalty in his presence and Elisif offered a cheerful smile. The commander then went about training his soldiers at the archery targets while Tullius crossed his arms as he shifted his weight on one foot while watching the solitude guard walk away. At the sound of Elisif’s soft voice, he gave her his full attention by moving his head. His expression was harsh as always, but it softened for a split second before he was back to frowning.

What could have Elisif said to cause that reaction?

_Somethings going on here..._

Brown eyes met the shadowed mages gaze and he looked like he was suppressing the urge to shudder as he dug his nails into his arms.

Elisif looked over her shoulder and gestured for Sybille to come closer, but the mage declined, gesturing to the box of herbs in her hands. The jarl immediately understood Sybille’s sign of urgency and she began wrapping up her conversation with the general who looked remarkably uncomfortable. Sybille’s gaze lingered on Tullius for a moment longer, the imperial making it a point to glare at her. The Mage turned her back and made sure they were out of earshot before she spoke to her majesty,

“My lady.”

“Hm?”

“Have you noticed anything…peculiar about the general lately?” this seemed to be the right choice of words as Elisif was immediately on guard,

“Why? Has his illness returned?” the jarl rambled nervously, only earning a raised brow that expected her to explain her sudden train of thought which accidentally slipped out,

“Well?” Sybille pushed just a bit harder for some context and the words came tumbling out without protest,

“When we were at High Hrothgar, we had to stay an extra day due to a strange illness that overcame general Tullius. None of us had ever seen anything like it.”

“ _Us_? That being who exactly?”

“Rikke, Elenwen…the greybeards…”

“Anyone else?” the mage pried deeper when she noticed the woman beginning to trail off,

“and… _Ulfric_.” She couldn’t stand even speaking his name without rage and sorrow consuming her, the man who murdered her husband.

“Interesting…”

“Is he dying?”

A snort escaped the mage and she bit her tongue to keep from breaking out into maniacal laughter,

“Not necessarily my lady.”

“What is it then?” Elisif demanded, stepping in front of the woman to halt their walking pace. Over the jarls dainty shoulder, she could see the doors to the blue palace where she was desperate to return to, as the sun was beginning to peek out through the thick mist.

“I can’t be sure unless I examine him myself, if you can manage to convince him to stop by then I’ll have an answer for you.” Sybille offered honestly and began to walk past the jarl already plotting something,

“Come your majesty, we have much to do before the sun sets.”

Elisif took one last glance at the waving imperial banners of castle dour; she could spot the fortress easily from the elevated hill to the palace. Grimly, the woman turned around to follow the mage back into the prison cell that her court called the throne room.

\----

Tullius wiped the sweat from his brow for the umpteenth time that day, he was beginning to worry that his fever was coming back…Rikke was equally concerned and even pulled him aside to ask if he was alright multiple times already. Just when he was considering taking a break from military planning, the doors in the hall clanged open to reveal a very familiar soldier strolling in,

“Hadvar reporting for duty sir.”

“You made it out of Helgen? I’m impressed, welcome back soldier, speak with legate Rikke I think she has a job for you.” The general spoke from his usual script, giving orders as naturally as breathing. Hadvar gave a curt nod and turned to wander off in search of the general’s second in command, that is, until he caught a glimpse of Tullius’ neck….

“Sir?”

“Did you not hear me? I said—”

“Have you been injured?”

“…what?”

“There’s teeth marks right there?”

Tullius slapped a hand over his neck and decided to play it off,

“Just some wolves—”

“That…doesn’t look like a wolf—”

****

**_“Are you questioning your general?!”_ **

“My apologies sir.” Hadvar made a hasty escape and bumped into Rikke while doing so, the woman sparing no hesitation to welcome him back with a warm greeting,

“Oh, glad to see you’re well Hadvar, I actually have a job for you.”

“That’s what the general told me, what would you like me to do?”

“Are you alright? You look a little shaken up.”

“ _Well_ I did watch a dragon slaughter an entire town so…never mind—is there anything wrong with general Tullius?”

“Why do you ask?”

“He’s just, very ill-tempered today…”

Rikke glanced up to look through the archway where the general was still standing over the planning table, his blank gaze lost in the map below him. What he was thinking about was beyond both of them.

“I would recommend keeping your distance, he’s…just been feeling unwell for the past couple of weeks.”

Hadvar didn’t look convinced but he wasn’t about to argue again.

_\----_

****

**_“entire town…. there anything wrong with…general?”_ ** _Tullius pretended not to hear their conversation, they were far enough for him to pick up key words. What Hadvar said made him self-consciously bring up a hand to swipe over the scabbed bite marring his neck. Sure, it was painful, but what bothered him more, is that it was left by Ulfric during a night of unexpected passion. **Ulfric** , the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, who he was currently at war with. However, no matter how much he tried to deny he enjoyed it, Tullius struggled with accepting the fact the he wanted it to happen again…_

\----

It was finally the end of the day and “Jarl Elisif the fair” was no more, instead, she was just Elisif, who was hoping to talk Rikke into helping her get Tullius into the blue palace. Then maybe share a celebratory drink together with Sybille, a girl’s night was long overdue—High Hrothgar didn’t count, Elenwen was poor company. The petite woman leaned around a corner, masked by a cowl and some mages robes that were a little too big as she’d borrowed them from her court mage. While she waited for Falk to retire to his chambers, she wondered if the man ever slept, it was taking him an awfully long time.

Either way, her steward would be furious if he ever found out she was leaving the palace without any guards, hence the disguise. Finally, her chance came when the nord let out an exhausted yawn before trudging towards his room to sleep for 5 hours, maybe 6…

Elisif made a swift escape for the secret back entrance of the blue palace where the guards were never posted. Like a shadow, the robed woman moved quickly in the side alleys to be avoided until she reached the ramp to castle dour. Skipping up the steep slope with excitement, the disguised jarl made a break for the entrance where the military governor planned his war tactics. Of course, she forgot about a small detail, that was getting past the imperial soldiers posted outside the doors.

“Hold it. Imperial business here, the general isn’t expecting a mage.”

Elisif bit her lip in confliction; either she pulls the jarl card or try to talk her way out of this. She decided to go with the ladder and pulled down her hood, revealing her noble features to the guards who instantly choked on their words.

“My lady! What are you doing out this late without an escort?” The soldier demanded, he wasn’t concerned that her grace was any threat, but Falk firebeard would have his head if this ever got out! Elisif decided to put it rather bluntly despite what was at stake for the imperial guards,

“I have something to discuss with legate Rikke.”

The imperial soldiers shared a funny look,

“It can’t wait until tomorrow?” one of them asked with a raised brow, beginning to get suspicious, the other one joining in,

“You can leave a note with us instead of disturbing her rest”

This was harder than Elisif thought it was going to be, but she also knew that Rikke wasn’t asleep right now, instead probably up late strategizing on the whereabouts of Ulfric’s men,

“I’m afraid it’s an urgent matter that must be discussed _privately_.” The woman insisted, placing her hands on her hips to signify that she wasn’t going anywhere unless it was the main room of castle dour.

There was another exchange of reluctant glances before the guards finally relented,

“Very well, don’t disturb the general, he’s been quite…unpredictable lately...”

Elisif nodded, dwelling on their words as she stepped through the doors and strolled down the hall lit by flame.

_‘What do they mean by unpredictable?’_

When the nord looked up she saw the legate exactly where she thought she’d be, leaning over the planning table, skillfully moving pawns on the map. She paid no attention to the figure that walked into the room until they slammed their hands on the table, effectively scattering her progress,

“ _Son of a_ —Jarl Elisif!” Rikke stopped herself in time after getting a better look at the jarl clad in mages robes which she gestured to with curiosity,

“What’s with the getup?”

“I couldn’t leave the palace without it.” Elisif was grinning under the hood and she flipped it back down to reveal her face, leaving a flutter in the imperial soldier’s heart. Rikke cleared her throat to get ahold of herself, despite the fact that the sleeves of the mage robes were too big for the jarl and swallowed her dainty hands whole,

“So, why are you here interrupting my strategizing?” She tried to look intimidating but it didn’t work on the jarl who only replied without batting an eye, rather a wince at the end of her own sentence,

“I need to ask a favor of you…”

“I don’t think I like where this is going.”

“You won’t.”

“…go on.”

“I need your help getting Tullius to the blue palace.” 

Rikke’s face twisted into a bitter expression as her confusion began to surface,

“Do you understand how difficult that will be? I’ll be killed for even trying to wake him, the man sleeps with a dagger under his pillow!”

“ _Please_ Rikke, Sybille Stentor requires his presence to be examined for health concerns.”

“She thinks he’s fallen ill? That would explain his short temper lately…”

“I’m not sure, she wouldn’t tell me.” Elisif murmured while chewing at her bottom lip in concern, if the general really was in any danger of a fatal sickness, then they were wasting precious time. Rikke seemed to understand this rather quickly and gave a curt nod,

“Very well, take a seat over there and wait for me to bring him out; he might not be very cooperative, he’s been out of sorts ever since he returned from our last trip...”

The jarl remained silent and made herself comfortable on the wooden bench next to a planter that smelled of sweet snowberries. Not a few minutes later Elisif heard shouting from the upper level and then she saw a red-headed imperial soldier racing up the stairs with his sword drawn. The only difference between the basic imperial armor was that she recognized this one…was it _Hadvar_ …? There was a thud and then everything went silent, making the jarl worry for everyone’s well-being. However, this was short lived once she heard shuffling down the steps and _lively_ protests from none other than general Tullius.

“Alright, let’s get to it then.” Rikke grunted, dodging a fist swinging her way and then restraining the imperials arm with an iron grip. Hadvar was in charge of the other side of the struggling general—he looked very uncomfortable to be dragged into this mess and Elisif felt sympathy for the poor soldier.

“Right!”

Elisif thought it useless to keep up the disguise, but she enjoyed the adventurous feeling under the bright moonlight too much. So, she flipped on the hood one last time as they slipped through the deserted streets of solitude, all the while a grin of freedom splitting across the woman’s face.

Rikke and Hadvar weren’t as joyful, being multiple paces behind and constantly having to adjust their grip on the still colorfully cursing general. Just as the legate predicted, he was putting up quite a fight, anyone would after being dragged out of bed and restrained by their subordinates nonetheless. It wasn’t until they reached the top of the steps to the throne room under the gilded blue roof of the palace, that Tullius finally started with his death threats.

****

**_“I’m going to kill you for this legate!”_ **

“I’m hoping he won’t remember this…” Hadvar groans on the general’s left side, who began snarling in a rage once more, his voice rough with sleep,

**“You bet your ass I will! I’ll send the both of you straight to oblivion you--Mmpf!!”**

Rikke had enough, and slapped a cloth she’d carried in her pocket over his mouth, his muffled protests made apparent through the thin fabric. His face already told enough about how he was feeling with his deeply furrowed brows and brown eyes consumed with fury. Knowing that the next day to come would be more difficult than the present moment, the legate grimaced and shook her head with determination,

_‘This better be worth it, I never signed up for this when I joined the legion.’_

“Let’s get this over with.” Rikke grumbled, gesturing to Hadvar to help her drag the imperial towards Sybille’s chambers, the woman always gave her the chills…something about her eyes were off…alight with a deep _hunger_. Tullius began to squirm again and managed to land a punch somewhere prompting a groan of pain from the receiving end. Elisif strolled in front of them and looked back at the glaring general apologetically before she swung open the door to the mage’s quarters. Sybille was hunched over an alchemy table and she looked over her shoulder, her face lighting up with eminent delight,

“I see you succeeded Elisif.” The woman praised, setting down whatever concoction she was mixing on the table before grabbing a chair to pull it into the center of the room.

“I had some help…” the jarl claimed sheepishly, rubbing her forearm with guilt as she watched the two imperial soldiers drag Tullius over to the chair. He had given up on his struggles, instead seething with a quiet fury as he sat down cooperatively with his arms crossed defensively, a frown etched deeply into his features.

**“Well? I assume you all had a good reason to drag me out of bed for this, or did you need another player for late-night musical chairs Elisif?”** The general mocked with an angered growl, knowing the woman for her love of games—unfortunately for him this was not the case…

“Not quite general.”

Sybille had stepped in front of him leaning in close; the imperial suppressed a shudder when he made direct eye-contact with the mysterious mage. She was known for having that effect on people, and she liked it that way.

_Better to be feared than to be looked down upon._

“Then what is it you want from me; you’d better start explaining fast.” His frown deepened and the infuriating smirk on Sybille’s face wasn’t easing his discomfort. In fact, he was beginning to feel sick to his stomach.

“Hm. You’ve got quite a feisty attitude for so late in the evening.”

“Well you weren’t forcibly dragged out of bed to be gawked at by a bunch of idiots.”

There was a sudden intake of breath as Elisif tensed in the room and Rikke was quick to reassure her,

“He doesn’t mean it; he’s just upset right now.” The legate had dropped her voice to a hushed whisper but the imperial was sharper than that, after all, he was _trained_ to be,

**“I can hear you.”**

Hadvar shuffled on his feet awkwardly and the mage decided to relieve the trio of their obvious uneasiness when trapped in a room with an ill-tempered imperial general who could kill them all effortlessly. Of course, he’s caught unawares when being pushed around and Sybille knew this, so she had nothing to fear. Everyone has their weakness, finding them was just a talent of hers…

“I think it’s best that everyone steps out for a minute while I speak to the general privately.”

Without having to be told twice, Rikke and Hadvar were out the door in a split second, but Elisif lingered just a bit longer. Her sad gaze fixed on the general who knew how badly he’d messed up. Making amends can wait until daylight, he had much more difficult things to deal with at the moment.

When the door finally shut with a soft thump, Sybille started her spiel,

“So general Tullius, how is your health lately?”

The imperial angrily swung a leg up to cross it over the other before he answered with a huff,

“What’s it matter to you? Last time I checked, I never requested to play your test subject.”

Sybille snickered, _this was going to be fun_ ,

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing important…much appetite these days?”

“…I’m lacking…” the general couldn’t find it in himself to lie to the woman, her glowing eyes pulling the truth right out of him.

“Interesting.” She remarked, tapping her chin as she made a mental note.

“Why?”

“Lift up your shirt.” The mage had completely ignored him, instead pushing an order on him. Now Tullius was back to glowering at the mage,

_“No.”_

“I need to evaluate your health, now please, move your clothes or I will.”

The look in her eyes told him that she wasn’t messing around, but he couldn’t let her see what Ulfric did to his body or else she’d definitely have questions. In fact, he was surprised she hadn’t already asked about the Stormcloaks bite on his neck, there were much smaller ones just like it all over his skin beneath his sleep clothes…

“I’m not—”

His protest was cut short by a sudden yelp when the woman reached forward and tugged the hem of his shirt up to his neckline.

_“I said—”_

Sybille glared at him, a look that demanded silence, and the words simply died in his throat despite his determination. When the hooded mage finally got a good look at the marks on the imperials dark skin, she had to bite back a snicker, but failed in the attempt, contributing to the humiliation flushed on her patients face,

“Gods…those are some—pf…quite interesting bruises sir, how did they manage to take form?” Her voice was tight as she struggled to contain the laughter. Tullius didn’t know if he’d rather it be this way or just have her laugh in his face.

“If you’re done with your games,” the imperial stopped mid-sentence to pull his shirt back down in a fit of embarrassment, “I’d like to get back to resting.” He finished with a glare up at the smirking mage which seemed to have no effect. Who was he kidding? Sybille feared nobody…

The woman lifted off her hood and she raised an eyebrow, she was serious about who left those marks and Tullius had no escape,

“Or should I say _who_ left those bruises?” Sybille questioned as she crossed her arms impatiently, unfortunately for the general, she was never one for games.

“…” opening and closing his mouth, the imperial was at a loss, there was simply no way he could get the words out…

“I just can’t…”

“General Tullius, I was genuinely concerned that these bruises were from a new disease, as I never thought you were the promiscuous type—”

“I AM NOT—”

“And I’m not finished.” Sybille scolded the general like a parent, which only grated on his nerves further. Tullius sat back in his seat and huffed irritably, this was such a mess; could it get any worse?

“Since my concern was all for naught, I at least deserve to know _who_ did this to you.”

_Apparently it can…_

**“No chance in oblivion**.” Tullius snarled, he’d faced enough humiliation for the night, he deserved to at least keep this to himself.

“Well then, I always have my other sources.” Sybille leaned in close and gave him a wicked grin; the imperial fought down the urge to flinch under those hungry eyes that sought knowledge. It was clearly a threat but Tullius refused to let himself wither under the mages glare. He decided to remain silent while the woman straightened up and walked out of the room. Not seconds later there was the sound of unmistakable hysteria out in the hall and one particular screech that stood out,

_“HE WHAT?!”_

General Tullius knew right then that he had lost the right to his poorly kept secret once a dish shattered in the distance, probably a decorative vase, poor jarl Elisif...

The source had to be Rikke and he couldn’t blame her; secrets had always been her one weakness. _Damn_. Sybille really was a force to be reckoned with.

The door slammed open and the mage strolled in calmly,

“I’ll heal those up for you, sit up straight and hold still.” Sybille ordered gesturing to the general who was slumped on the chair with his arms crossed defensively. Tullius raised a brow and slowly did so, leery of the glowing ball of amber light radiating from the palm of the mages left hand. The light flashed and gold ribbons of warmth wrapped around the general’s body making him feel younger than he has ever felt in years. Unfortunately, the youthful feeling was short-lived and when he lifted up his shirt, he saw that all of the marks had simply vanished. The imperial let out a sigh of relief and looked up to the woman to thank her, but there was a sour expression on her face.

“I don’t need you to tell me—”

Sybille raised a hand to signal for him to be quiet, it seemed that all of the marks had vanished…all except for one in particular. It didn’t make sense to the mage, her healing spell should even stitch up the deepest of gashes without a trace, but a bite mark on the general’s neck had remained untouched. How peculiar…

It was something that the mage didn’t understand and while it upset her at first, excitement overwhelmed her with a new discovery.

“Now I wonder why that one stayed.” Sybille mused aloud and Tullius felt himself tense in his seat,

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my magic healed all of your marks…except for one…” The mage trailed off as curiosity danced in her unsettling gaze, her lips twitching upwards as she continued,

“I wonder if _Ulfric_ has one just like it…” Sybille pondered, watching the general’s reaction to see if she riled him up. His expression told her all that she needed to know.

“You have a terrible poker face general Tullius.”

“…so what if he has one, I can’t even remember leaving it.”

“Tell me what happened at high Hrothgar.”

A deep crimson flooded the imperial’s face as memories washed over him, and left a stinging humiliation behind when they faded away.

“That’s none of your—”

“Should I ask my other source then?”

“…I don’t even understand it, Rikke told me that I was in _heat_ because of something about beast blood.”

The general blurted with a grimace, biting his cheek before continuing,

“Which is ridiculous, no one in my family has the blood of a _mythical creature_ , its imp—”

Sybille didn’t wait another second to interrupt, arms crossed as she spoke in a matter of fact tone,

“Impossible? Isn’t that what you said about the return of dragons sir?”

The imperial only scowled up at the mage standing over him in his seat, suddenly the general began to feel quite small.

_Why are nords so damn tall?!_

“There’s much you still need to learn about Skyrim general Tullius, that is, if you are our going to stay our military governor.”

Tullius looked away with disdain, he already knew that…

“Well, if you really did go into heat, you should be expecting soon.”

****

**_“Wait just a minute—”_ **

“Don’t you ever let people finish their sentences? I can’t determine if you were really in heat until you experience another one.”

“But—”

“ _But,_ if you are with child, then you won’t have another heat until a year after your pups are born.”

Tullius squirmed, now he was beyond uncomfortable…this all just had to be a terrible nightmare, maybe he should stop drinking before bed…

Sybille crossed the room back to her alchemy table and started grinding up herbs. Tullius idly chewed at his cheek until she returned with a steaming cup of tea,

“Here, drink this.” The woman ordered, not giving the imperial much of a choice as she rambled on while he downed the entire beverage in one gulp,

“Now if my timing is right, you should experience a heat in exactly one week with the help of those herbs.”

The imperial set the cup down with a soft thud and he crossed his arms again, a warm feeling spreading through his core from the warm tea. Tullius listened to the woman’s explanation, and as she got deeper in, he began to regret drinking whatever was in that cup…

“I’ll summon Ulfric; he should arrive in about a week, considering how long it will take him to get the message, but our courier is quite fast.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It is so, he was there for the last one.”

“I-I don’t…want him here….”

_Why was it so difficult to get the words out?_

He didn’t regret what happened, but he knew that there would be difficult consequences to pay later on…

This was a waste of time, he was Ulfric’s enemy, a deeper relationship could never flourish between a bloody civil war’s two leaders. Tullius suddenly hissed and slapped a hand over the mark that began to burn intensely at his neck,

“You’re denying your alpha and it’s hurting your body in return.”

“I’m supposed to hate him, he’s the leader of the rebellion that I’m trying to eliminate.” Tullius’ voice was high and strained from the intense pain burning through his veins, Sybille walked over to a basin of water and brought back a cool cloth to wipe at his forehead,

“Nothing could have stopped this; your fate was sealed once you both crossed paths.”

“But I’ve been in the same place as him before?”

“Though not in the same room.”

“Why does it matter?”

The mage grabbed the empty cup and went to set it on a shelf to keep it from being broken while she explained,

“Outdoors, the air is open; it wasn’t until you were both within the same enclosed walls that you began to react to his pheromones.”

“I don’t have time for this; I’m trying to end a war here.” Tullius complained, his leg crossing over the other to mimic his arms in a fit of stubbornness.

“Your health will deteriorate if you don’t stop resisting your mate, that mark can never be healed, there is a bond between the both of you. Whether either of us like it or not.” Sybille chided like a mother, a sour expression on her face at the thought of that _traitor_. Despite the situation, Elisif would never let the nord through solitudes gates without ordering her guards to kill him on sight. Tullius objected with this statement, but Sybille was quick to rebuttal,

“I’ll take care of that, he’ll come nowhere near the blue palace, but he will enter castle dour.”

“N-No, I don’t want my men to hear me like that.” No matter how good it felt, the loss of control over his voice was utterly mortifying. The walls of high Hrothgar were ancient, solid, but castle dour was falling apart from years of neglect…there had been no need for imperial soldiers to occupy the city until the civil war began with the massacre at Markarth.

“Then order them to go on a scouting mission.”

“You want me to command hundreds of soldiers to run rampant? They’ll all be killed by either skyrim’s wilderness or Stormcloak’s crossing their path.”

“Hm…well then just dismiss the guards in the castle, not the barracks, and Rikke can guard the front entrance.”

Tullius remained silent as agreement and stood up from his seat,

“Well, thank you for dragging me out of bed to heal some bruises and make my life worse than oblivion.” The general griped, making sure his shirt was decent before walking out the door past the statue-like soldiers that had been following the jarl’s orders.

_Speaking of which…_

The imperial turned to see the owl-eyed Elisif still clad in a spare pair of mages robes staring back at him nervously, she was wringing her hands as if she were a scolded child,

“I’m disappointed in you, jarl Elisif.”

His voice was clipped and his choice of words hurt the woman. He didn’t stick around to watch her wilt as he stormed out of the castle, pissed that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep now more than anything.

\----

There was a splitting pain blooming at the crown of his head and the general rose from his restless slumber to wince under the bright light of the sun.

_“Gods…what was in that drink”_

Remembering the events from the previous night, Tullius grumbled and pulled the covers back over his head as he turned on his side to hide from the world, and himself…

Hours passed, and the longer the imperial refused to move from his room Rikke grew increasingly worried. Hadvar was in equal distress, as he’d already finished his job for the legate and was waiting for direct orders from his superior. The creaking of metal doors swinging open alerted the imperial soldiers and they relaxed at the sight of the jarl accompanied by thane Bryling. A pang of jealously struck Rikke’s heart and she had to take a breath to calm herself before she spoke in Tullius’ place,

“Jarl Elisif, you have duties to attend to, which will never get done if you continue to worry about the general.” The legate scolded as she was now in a bad mood with the noble company standing carelessly in the main entrance of the castle.

The dainty woman held up a case of liquor in response, which Rikke took gingerly,

“It’s my apology; I made sure to bring his favorite…”

The armored nord rose her brow,

“Colovian brandy?” There was a lilt in her voice as she was reminded of the general’s hilarious drunken stupor at the Thalmor embassy.

_She was never going to let him live that down. He was the main reason Elenwen placed the rule that guests are only allowed two drinks._

Elisif nodded, her gentle aura lifting the legate’s spirits as they shared the secret joke between each other, something that made the both of them closer.

“I don’t expect him to forgive me, but I just want him to know that I’m sorry.” The jarl murmured as she fiddled with the ring she never took off, her last memory of Torygg. Rikke noticed this and approached her with a reassuring tone,

“You were only trying to help, which Tullius’ stubbornness gets in the way of, he’ll thank you for it later I’m sure.”

The dainty woman nodded and waved her goodbyes to the legate, and Hadvar who was sitting on a bench in the other room with a book in hand about one-handed tactics. Once the jarl and her thane were out of sight Rikke let out a heavy sigh and trudged up the stairs to the general’s room with the case of brandy balanced in her arms.

\----

Ulfric Stormcloak hissed in pain and reached up to rub at the wound on his neck. However, painful it may be, he was too stubborn to ask for Wuunverth’s assistance with a healing spell. Afterall, he was a true son of Skyrim…

So, he sat uncomfortably on the throne as a noble attempted to butter him up with empty promises of connections and his boasting of riches. The jarl watched the pathetic nord drone on, lost in some speech about Talos knows what…he wasn’t even paying attention…

It seemed like forever until the man stopped talking and finished with his true motive which was asking him if he’d be interested in taking his daughter’s hand in marriage. Ulfric dismissed him bitterly and he leaned his hand on his cheek now in sour spirits. Galmar had already pushed him enough about the importance of an heir to the throne of Windhelm, but he was too busy with war politics and the liberation of Skyrim. The last thing the Stormcloak needed was the distraction of a consort, besides, there was only one person he would ever consider and it was simply impossible—

“Ralof, reporting for duty sir.” The Stormcloak soldier announced as he crossed the expansive throne room to salute at the foot of the jarl’s throne. Glad for the distraction that interrupted his spiraling train of thought, Ulfric welcomed the soldier on his return,

“Ralof, it’s good to see you alive and well, how did you manage to escape helgen?” Ulfric was astonished, he’d been out of contact for quite some time, the jarl had almost convinced himself one of his best soldiers was dead.

“I had the help of a friend and some tunnels infested with spiders.” Ralof explained humorously with a fire in his eyes that reminded Ulfric of himself in his younger years,

“I’m lucky to have survived.”

“—and your family?” The leader of the Stormcloak rebellion always made a point to be involved in his frontline soldiers’ lives, after all, it established a foundation of trust.

“They’re doing alright, I was actually laying low under their roof in Riverwood until the imperial patrols finally cleared.”

“Smart man, well, galmar has a job for you; don’t keep him waiting.” Ulfric ended their conversation short when he saw a courier approach his steward with a letter sealed by an imperial emblem in red wax. Ralof saluted his leader one last time with admiration before rushing off to the left wing in search of the stone-fist. The jarl’s steward approached the throne hesitantly, knowing how short his temper was with imperial business. Reluctant to hand over the letter, Jorleif tried to read it aloud, but he was cut off by a surprisingly calm, deep voice.

“It’s alright Jorleif, I can read it myself.” Ulfric demanded, gesturing for him to give him the official inscribed piece of paper.

“As you wish my jarl.” The steward complied and returned back to his post by the thrones side while the jarl skimmed the letter, their handwriting was unfamiliar….

****

**_Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak,_ **

****

**_It is with great importance that you make an immediate trip to the capital of Skyrim, Solitude, in the hold of Haafingar. General Tullius, the military governor of Skyrim, requests your presence at castle dour to discuss a private matter. Please refrain from bringing a fleet of soldier’s as we are under the agreement of a temporary truce until the dragon menace has been handled. You may bring two guests to accompany you through your travels until you have reached the gates. From then on, we expect you to enter by yourself with your weapon sheathed. The guards have been ordered to remain on standby, but that doesn’t mean that they won’t hesitate to protect their hold should they feel threatened—_ **

Ulfric rolled his eyes,

****

**_Sincerely,_ **

****

**_Sybille Stentor_ **

The nord folded the note and handed it back to his steward who took it delicately to be filed away amongst other letters. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting it to be from general Tullius. Pale green eyes scanned the room and caught sight of Ralof taking orders from Galmar at the drafting table, suddenly, he knew who he would have accompanying him. That is, if he was stupid enough to enter the imperial infested city without any defense in his favor. Even if they discussed a truce, he never agreed to cozy up to the imperial army, he had a war to fight...

Then again, general Tullius was summoning him personally so it had to be important. Maybe the terms they agreed on were unclear?

_He couldn’t have that…_

Ulfric ran a hand through his blond locks and sighed heavily, there was no way around it,

“Galmar!” the blond shouted towards the left wing where the old nord came strolling in from briskly,

“What is it?!” The Stormcloak officer shouted back, watching the jarl rise from the throne to stand at

even ground with him,

“We’re leaving for Solitude immediately.”

Galmar had hundreds of questions, some slipping out while he rambled, which was mostly talking to himself out loud with his gravelly voice,

“Are you insane, we don’t have the men for that kind of attack, we haven’t even conquered Whiterun! Has the dragonborn already returned!? Is Tullius finally making his move—”

“Galmar.”

The nord silenced himself and settled for scowling at the younger man as he crossed his arms, Ulfric took that as his que to continue,

“General Tullius is requesting our summons.”

“What for? What does that bastard want with us?”

Ulfric bit back the urge to growl at him, afterall, he was _supposed_ to hate Tullius, but their bond was making it difficult. Now, instead of joining in with the Stormcloak officer’s banter, he wanted to be on the defensive side, but he couldn’t let Galmar know that…

“To discuss a private matter.” The jarl quoted exactly and the nord raised an eyebrow at him when his voice shifted tones.

_He seemed angry, but why?_

While the stone-fist was asking this to himself, Ulfric turned on his heel to retrieve the letter from Jorleif. When the blond returned, Ralof was at Galmar’s side with a questioning look on his face. The officer grunted when the Stormcloak leader handed over the official document and his aged eyes scanned the page.

“Sybille Stentor? Who in the blazes is that?!” Galmar hissed when he reached the bottom of the page and Ralof took a subtle step back when he began to notice tension growing between the two.

“I believe she’s the court mage of Solitude.” Ulfric sighed, this would be a lot easier if he wasn’t being bombarded with questions every damn second…

“Is Tullius illiterate, or is he just too lazy to write a letter himself?”

“ _Galmar_.” Ulfric warned, unable to control the urge to defend his mate from an insult that normally would have made him crack a smile. Galmar scowled up at the jarl while the blond soldier behind him retreated into the left wing to avoid any conflict between the arguing pair.

“Something is wrong with you lately; you’ve got this look like your head is in the clouds! What happened when I left that mountain?!” The old nord demanded, beginning to get fed up with Ulfric’s unpredictable behavior,

“It’s like you’re beginning to favor the imperials after everything our men have worked for!”

_“That’s enough.”_ The blond jarl stormed out of the palace and into the brisk cold of Windhelm, Galmar unable to utter a word that could stop him.

\----

It was hours until Ulfric finally returned, his right-hand man had been worried sick in fear that he’d gotten himself killed by his temper. Luckily, this was not the case, and the blond nord casually strolled back into the throne room with a blank look on his face.

“Are you done throwing your tantrum?” Galmar chided like a parent, his cold blue eyes watching Ulfric stride forward, the fur cape at his shoulders billowing behind him.

“We’re leaving for Solitude immediately”

“ _We,_ as in who?” the stone-fist protested while his gaze followed the jarl who began walking into the left wing where they planned their strategies. Ulfric’s reply was nonchalant like the shrug of a shoulder as he strolled through the archway,

“You and Ralof.”

  
At the mention of the blond soldier, he poked his head out from the planning room,

“Sir?”

“Gather your things, we’re taking a trip.” The jarl ordered and his soldier turned to look at Galmar with curiosity who only frowned in response.

“May I ask where sir?”

“Castle dour.”

Both Galmar and Ralof’s jaws dropped while Ulfric searched for his travel pack without a care in the world.

_Something was definitely wrong with the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion…_

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Lots of shenanigans for this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Here is another chapter I hope you like it! This is honestly beginning to feel like a crack fic to me lol but i'm having a lot of fun writing it.  
> Also! The tags have changed.

_KNOCK KNOCK_

_  
“General.”_

“…”

Rikke pressed her ear up against the door and listened for any signs of the imperial rousing from his third day of a deep slumber.

_Nothing._

_KNOCK KNOCK_

_“General Tullius!”_

Finally, _Finally_ , the legate heard a muggy grumble from the other side of the door,

_At least he’s alive…_

Out of sheer concern, the nord had been leaving daily meals at the general’s door which never came back out of his room and the kitchens were beginning to complain about the loss of dishes. He couldn’t continue living like this whether he wanted to or not. After gathering her bravery, having accepted her fate of a swift death from the wrath of her commander, Rikke slammed the door open to see an idle lump on the center of the mattress on the general’s bed. Hesitantly, the woman took a step forward and then another until she was at the foot of the imperial’s bedside. Taking a deep breath, the legate reached forward to shake Tullius awake who was wrapped in the bundle of blankets.

Rikke took a cautious step back when the lump moved and a hand crept over the hem of the sheet to peel back the cocoon ever so slightly. At the sight of his guest, the general instantly tugged the sheet back into place and settled back in the nest he’d made. The legate gulped and prayed for the divines to protect her from what she was about to do…

“Sir, you need to get up, it’s been _days;_ I can’t lead the imperial legion alone!” an irritated voice growled into the sparse room of the sunlit, general’s quarters.

The fluttering of a sheet filled the chamber when Rikke finally got the thin blanket out from beneath the heavy body of the imperial, and the light weight sent the rest of the blankets flying. The figure on the bed instantly sat up and scowled at the woman who had a terrified look on her face while she clutched the blankets to her chest with a death grip.

_I’m so dead._

\----

The brass gates of solitude slowly dragged open and Ulfric looked behind him where Galmar and Ralof waited at the bottom of the old stone road illuminated by the last light of day. Their journey was exhausting, several times they were stopped by bandits that fell to their blades, and the occasional wilderness meeting the same fate. His frontline soldier waved goodbye and the Stormcloak officer next to him only shook his head in disapproval; the old man thinks everything is a trap.

_Tullius isn’t that cunning_

Flanked by the red wolf decorated shields of solitude carried by guards, the blond was led through the deserted streets and up a steep, stone, ramp. They passed by an armory where the imperial blacksmith glared at him as he hammered away at burning metal.

He was clearly unwelcomed in haafingar, but that was to be expected as long as everyone stayed blind to the truth…

_His truth_

An imperial officer stood at attention in front of castle dour’s entrance and as they got closer, Ulfric recognized the woman,

“Rikke—”

“Quiet.” One of the guards demanded, and the jarl of Windhelm sighed in annoyance, instead greeting the fellow nord with a nod of his head. Rikke nodded back curtly and stepped forward,

“I can take it from here, you two go back to your posts.”

“I hope general Tullius knows what he’s doing.” One of the soldiers snarled in a thick nordic accent, gesturing to Ulfric crudely.

“Posts. Now.” The legate ordered and the guards scoffed after looking at each other and walked off, the blond being able to pick up their idle chatter,

_“If I were general Tullius, I’d have that traitor locked in irons, better yet, at the chopping block.”_

_“…seems...not...job.”_

Their conversation faded out of earshot and Ulfric stepped through the open door of castle dour which Rikke hastily shut behind her. The legate didn’t wait a second longer to open her mouth with a desperate look striking her expression,

“We need your help.”

Her voice held a specific urgency, and the blond began to realize where this was going…but it was way more fun to play dumb,

“What?” The blond asked, concealing the smirk that wanted to split across his expression.

“Follow me.”

Ulfric walked up a few steps, remaining a couple paces behind Rikke who was taking the stairs two at a time.

_Seems like Sybille was right about this being important…_

When he reached the top of the staircase, the legate was already standing outside of a door in a short hallway, her hand wrapped securely around the handle. There was a sour expression twisting her face and as Ulfric stepped closer he began to realize why. The noise from the other side of the door was so loud it was clear instead of muffled and there was violent shuffling. Ulfric frowned, was he wrong?

~~~

****

**_Earlier that morning…_ **

**Rikke rapped her fist against the general’s door, she learned her lesson last time and waited for the sleeping imperial to rise on his own terms. There was still a bruise healing at her gut and she wasn’t looking forward to another one. After an hour the woman began to worry and she cautiously peeked into the room to see if the general was even awake but…**

****

**_He wasn’t even in his bed!_ **

**The legate cursed and she burst into the room to find it absolutely destroyed, the linens on his bed were bundled up into a nest of some sort. Clothes littered the floor and the tall wardrobe hung open, Rikke maneuvered around a flipped chair and made her way to the window.**

****

**_Damn. He’s got a nice view of the courtyard…_ **

**“Focus!” Rikke hissed under her breath and after looking over each imperial soldier she finally spotted him, but he was just about past the archway towards the blacksmiths. It didn’t help that he was considerably quick on his feet.**

**The legate breezed down the steps and sprinted out of the castle, by the time she finally caught up with him he was just about to cross into the farm owned by Katla to retrieve his horse. Rikke snapped a hand out and grabbed the imperials shoulder to spin him around.**

**The dark flush decorating his face was a dead giveaway. Whatever was in that drink that Sybille gave him was taking full effect, and right on time too.**

**“Where do you think you’re going?” Rikke demanded, still gripping tightly at the imperial’s shoulder who was trying to worm out of her grasp,**

**“I’m…I’m your superior—y-you should be taking…orders from me…!” The general wheezed as if he were on the verge of collapse.**

**Ever since he woke up that morning, he’d been weak in the knees and unbearably hot, everything itched and something deep in his core burned. He was beginning to forget the reason why he needed his horse to solve this.**

**He needed…needed…?**

**“I need to find something or someone…but they’re far away…” Tullius trailed off dazedly, the distant look in his clouded eyes was very concerning to the legate,**

**“They will be here soon, let’s go back to castle dour.” Rikke assured softly and gave a meaningful tug on his bicep but the general didn’t budge.**

**“No! I need—” The head rush seemed too much for the imperial and the legate barely had time to react and catch him before he fainted. Just as she was wondering what she should do, the nord looked up to see her majesty accompanied by the court mage strolling up from the docks. Elisif caught her eye and the dainty woman rushed over to greet them, that is, until she realized the current situation and let out a sharp gasp. Sybille stepped closer and looked over the general before looking up at Rikke and nodding as if she were confirming something. Elisif had questions, but they were cut short by the general groaning in pain,**

**“We need to get him back to his room! He looks terribly ill.” The jarl commented in concern and tried to shoulder the other half of the general’s weight who was already hanging onto the imperial soldier. Sybille and Rikke agreed and they struggled up the hill with the burden of Tullius’ basically dead weight.**

**When they finally reached the top of the hill, Hadvar came running up to them at the gates after getting word from the other soldiers in the courtyard who saw the general take off. Relieved to see that the imperial had been retrieved, the frontline soldier ran up to the group until he realized that something was wrong,**

**“What’s happened?”**

**“He overexerted himself and he fainted.” Sybille explained to the red-head, significantly out of breath.**

**“How can I help?”**

**“We just need to get him back to his room.” Rikke sighed, still in better shape than the jarl and her court mage who were currently crouched to catch their breath.**

****

**_Thank the gods Hadvar showed up…_ **

**The room was in complete disarray when they arrived, as Rikke already expected it to be, but their efforts were focused on getting the general back in his bed. However, the minute Tullius hit the mattress; he was up in an instant demanding the whereabouts of his alpha.**

**“What is he talking about?” Hadvar asked in utter confusion, earning a hopeful look from Elisif who desperately wanted to understand the situation to best help the general. The more the imperial called for the absent alpha, the more his agitation grew, which eventually ended up in him kicking and slapping away anyone who tried to touch him.**

**“Don’t touch me! You’re not my alpha!”**

**“Ok, I need to know what’s going on here.” Elisif demanded with an uncharacteristic frown taking shape on her delicate face.**

**Sybille looked at the jarl and sighed heavily, she would have to tell her eventually, but the mage hadn’t had enough time to mentally prepare herself for this…it would surely break the poor woman if she found out just who the general’s alpha was, and what an alpha is…**

**The hooded mage gestured with her hand to follow her out the door; both Hadvar and Elisif followed. Once again, leaving it up to the armored woman to fix the problem. Rikke huffed irritably after she got slapped away for the fourth time. Trying to put a cool cloth on his forehead to ease the fever that was spreading over his dark skin was beginning to seem impossible. That is until, the legate had an idea…**

**\----**

**When the court mage returned, the last light of dusk was just beginning to fade and Rikke began to worry that their expected company wasn’t going to be arriving. Afterall, he never returned the letter…**

**“Well, they didn’t take it very well, as expected but—” Sybille had closed the door behind her as she reentered the general’s room to assist the legate until their visitor shows, that is if he ever does. The only way the mage could convince Elisif to let the traitor through the gates, was telling her that Tullius would die without him should he go neglected long enough. It was unfair to play that card, but it was Sybille’s last resort, as Elisif put up quite a fight, never before had she argued with her majesty. It was actually quite entertaining. However, despite her victory, the mage stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the bound imperial. Rikke was calmly sitting at his bedside, leafing through an unfamiliar book.**

**“I can’t understand any of this…” The legate sighed and dropped the book into her lap to massage at her temple; she could feel Sybille’s eyes burning into her skull and she looked up at the speechless mage with a quirked brow,**

**“What?”**

**“… _What you ask me_? What’s the meaning of _this_!?” Sybille shouted, pointing at the tied-up imperial who continued to struggle in his restraints. Rikke was pretty confident in her tying of the knots that bound the general’s wrists and including the binding of his ankles together to prevent any injury to either of them. **

**“It was either me or him, and I wasn’t really looking forward to a dagger in my throat—”**

**The legate was cut off with a desperate whine and her head snapped over to the general who began groaning in pain, bringing his bound fists to put pressure on his stomach.**

**“It burns…!” Tullius gasped as he began writhing uncomfortably as if fire was crawling across his skin. His restless tossing and turning had the legate chewing her lip in concern, deciding to return to her duty of guarding the fortress in eager hopes of the sight of the Stormcloak. She never thought she’d be _hoping_ for Ulfric’s arrival to Solitude, but she never expected the resurrection of dragons either…**

**~~~**

_Present_

Ulfric’s breath caught in his throat when the door before him swung open to reveal the wrecked appearance that was the general’s chambers. However, what was more concerning, was the mage in the corner casting a lesser ward to protect herself from the flying objects that Tullius threw at her—that being mostly clothes, thank the gods.

“Why did you untie him!” Rikke hissed when she stormed into the room, the imperial stopping his enraged throwing of whatever he could find at Sybille who instantly defended herself,

“He wouldn’t shut up!”

“Well don’t expect me to help—”

The blond nord pushed past both of the bickering women, and spared no hesitation in approaching the imperial to steady him with a hand around his waist as he also seized his wrist in which his hand gripped a small ceramic cup. Tullius squinted and then blinked a few times until his vision cleared enough to see who was brave enough to restrain him. The dish went tumbling out of his fingers after Tullius’ hand relaxed, and shards splintered across the wooden flooring beneath their feet. His reaction was anything but the usual curt general; then again, pheromones were proving to be a powerful thing…

“Alpha!” The imperial cried while grappling the Stormcloak’s collar to bring him down to his height. Knowing what was about to happen, Ulfric grabbed the imperial’s chin instead and brought the hand from around the general’s waist up to the back of his head. Leaning Tullius into his neck, the blond looked up and glared at the women in the room still gawking at the odd pair. Their scurrying away signaled them getting the hint, the Stormcloak relieved that the two nords were sharp enough to understand orders from a single expression.

A whimper vibrating through his neck caught the blond’s attention and he released his grip on the imperial who looked up at him dazedly with a lust clouded gaze. Ulfric began to entertain his thoughts with whereabouts of some oil, as it seemed they would be needing it very soon…

\----

The room only consisted of sharp gasps and the occasional groan of pleasure that bounced off of the stone walls. In their lust driven frenzy, the blond nord noticed that something was off about the imperial currently clawing at the sheets beneath him. Needy wasn’t the right word…more like desperate, was the only way to describe Tullius’ behavior. Something about his reactions were forced and more intense than their previous joining.

_“Hnn…!”_

Speaking of which, it seemed the rougher he treated the imperial, the more pleasured encouragement he was rewarded. Ulfric smirked after this discovery and fed more force into his efforts. Each thrust of his hips smacked against the general’s tight ass just a bit harder, and from the sounds of it, he was driving the poor imperial wild who was already on the edge of climax. The telltale sign being the tightening of his entrance and the way his body tensed, as if each muscle were coiling up in preparation for the alpha’s knot.

_Then he got an idea…_

Tullius knew the rules, but he didn’t know how much longer he could last without the Stormcloak’s permission, and the thickening base of the alpha’s cock had him nearly drooling in anticipation. However, this feeling was short lived when Ulfric swiftly pulled out, and a strong grip was wrapped around the back of his neck pulling his body upwards as he scrambled for a moment on all fours. Having no time to react, the imperial felt a sharp sting bloom across his rear where the blond had struck his flesh. He couldn’t stop the violent shiver that wracked his frame and Tullius let out a tight sob as he lost any control he had over his body. His release tore through him mercilessly; evident passion painting the bedding beneath him and the skin of his stomach.

Ulfric’s brows shot up in surprise; he didn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting, but he certainly wasn’t expecting anything close to that. Just a mere spank to his rear spent the general’s stamina in one hit. Suddenly everything got _very_ quiet, besides their equally heavy breathing, and the Stormcloak brought his attention back to the now trembling body beneath him that let out a faint whimper,

“I-I…”

The blond leaned in closer to hear the imperial’s meek, quivering, voice,

“I’m sorry alpha…”

It was a faint whisper, but his broken tone told it all, and the nord gingerly flipped the imperial onto his back. To Ulfric’s surprise, there were tears marking his cheeks, suddenly overwhelming the alpha with guilt for making his mate cry out of anything but pleasure.

“It’s ok…” The blond murmured gently, bringing up a hand to brush away a wet streak on Tullius’ face. Noises of the creaking bedframe protested against Ulfric’s movements as he grabbed the imperial’s muscled thighs to spread his legs and push back into that tight heat. After all, they weren’t done just yet, and a choked groan rose from the general’s throat at the sudden intrusion. His entrance fluttered around the arousal that began to drag back and forth against his sensitive, inner, walls while the nords deep, sultry, voice caught the imperial’s attention and embarrassment,

“Did that feel good?”

Humiliation washed over Tullius as he brought an arm to cover his eyes and reached the other down to stroke himself in time with Ulfric’s thrusts. Green eyes were shocked to see the imperial nod in agreement, as the blond hadn’t been expecting a response in the slightest. It didn’t take long for the alpha’s knot to expand and fill up the body beneath him whose stomach quivered as a result, the imperial gasping desperately for breath as pleasure seeped deep into his bones for the final time that night.

\----

It wasn’t the blinding sunlight, nor the warmth spreading over his skin from the body curled up behind him that woke him—but the bearlike snores that practically shook the room emanating from the blond nord who held the imperial in a loose embrace. However, when Tullius tried to move away, the Stormcloaks mouth snapped shut and he tightened his grip on the smaller, warm, frame closer to his chest.

The imperial began to squirm as he felt like he was being smothered, but the lancing ache in his hips protested otherwise. Eventually he relented and ceased his struggles until a pair of pale green eyes slowly blinked open under the rays of the sun. Tullius frowned up at the blond nord who yawned and scratched at his beard lazily before settling his head back onto the pillow beneath him. The general was completely sapped of all of his energy and a deep sated feeling coursed through his veins as he laid in Ulfric’s embrace. Allowing himself to bask the warmth of the nord’s skin, Tullius closed his dark brown eyes and relaxed his body beneath the sheets of his bed.

_Just a little longer…_

KNOCK KNOCK

_“General!”_

An urgent voice beyond the door called for his aid and general Tullius let out a deep sigh when the blond nords chest began to rumble after being roused by the noise and he groaned groggily. The imperial truly envied Ulfric’s easy coming of sleep at a time like this…

Tullius opened his mouth to respond but his voice came out as a broken whisper, as he’d forgotten all about spending his voice on his screams of pleasure from the previous night, speaking of which, more bruises had appeared on his skin as proof of his passionately spent evening. What was the reason for all of this again? Oh right…Sybille’s curiosity…and possibly for her amusement.

KNOCK KNOCK

The imperial began to panic and he frantically sat up, feeling the nords arm loosely wrap around his naked waist. His voice was too weak to be heard from the other side of the door—

“Who is it?” Ulfric ordered gruffly from behind the general whose heart was beating rapidly against his ribcage after being tugged back into the nord’s strong arms. There was shuffling on the other side of the door and then the voice spoke,

“Sybille Stentor requires your presence at the blue palace, sir!” after hearing their visitors next string of words, Tullius had figured out that the voice muffled by the wooden door belonged to none other than Hadvar.

That man was right to be reluctant about disturbing his rest after their last debacle.

“You’re dismissed.” The nord replied and flopped back down on the mattress, bringing Tullius with him. The imperial squirmed under the weight and suddenly he was being flipped onto his back, Ulfric pinning his wrists above his head while he straddled his lap. He couldn’t find the fight within himself to stop the nords advances. The kiss was soft and sweet, and the general felt himself melt at the mercy of the blond’s lips and his heart soared from the tender attention. Tullius blinked up at the nord dazedly after he’d pulled away with a soft nip at his bottom lip and Ulfric laughed softly at his expression. The imperial felt a flush creep up his neck to heat up his cheeks with embarrassment.

“It’s not a good idea to keep Sybille waiting, I hear she’s quite frightening when you test her temper.” Ulfric teased and the general simply rolled his eyes ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat,

_What is wrong with me? I’m supposed to hate him!_

“Don’t remind me…” Tullius groaned to hide the painful sting blooming from the bite mark on his neck, a reminder of his bond to the alpha above him. Without another word, the nord rolled off of his lap and lazily crossed his arms behind his head against the head-board as he watched the imperial frantically dress himself. When he snapped the final clasp together on his armor, Tullius looked over at Ulfric lounging on the bed with a frown of jealousy; how he _wished_ he could relax for once…

“Don’t get too comfortable.” The general warned and slipped out the door while smoothing down his white hair without giving the nord a chance to reply.

\----

Tullius grumbled as he walked down the streets of solitude and he sent a pebble flying with the toe of his boot in his frustration. Citizens steered clear of his seething path back to the imperial headquarters where Rikke was surely, and eagerly awaiting his orders. The imperial mulled over the infuriating conversation with solitude’s court mage in the blue palace, the nerve of that woman…

~~~

**“I see your posse didn’t have to drag you here this time, seems like you’re learning.” Sybille remarked snidely with a smirk after she set down the book she’d been reading on her lap while Tullius barged in without announcing his entrance.**

**The general scowled at the amused nord and he dragged a chair from a nearby table to make himself comfortable,**

**“Well, was I summoned to just be poked and prodded at again?” He hissed in retaliation which seemed to delight the mage even further,**

**“Not quite general.” Her lips curled into a mischievous smile, and the imperial felt a pit form in the depths of his stomach.**

**He didn’t like where this was going…which seemed to be a pattern lately. Without any further jibes from the general, the woman continued to speak,**

**“Now that I’ve confirmed that you were indeed in heat, we’re traveling to markarth at dusk, I may be able to get some answers about this mysterious… _curse_ there.”**

**Tullius’ face twisted in disagreement; he had a legion to lead, he couldn’t spend his days parading around other cities while he had duties to attend to.**

****

**_“Absolutely not.”_ **

**It seemed even the harshest of glares he could muster had no effect on the mage who didn’t even blink in the face of such danger.**

**“Are you telling me ‘ _no’_ general?” Sybille’s expression fell into a frown as she emphasized on the refusal darkly, which had the hairs on the imperials neck standing up. Tullius refused to let himself lose this time and he bravely crossed his arms and opened his mouth,**

**“That’s correct.”**

**“Well that won’t do…how about I take a peek at your memories from last night instead?” The mage threatened and a ball of blue light flashed in her palm, held just inches from the imperials face. Brown eyes widened in shock and Tullius began to panic,**

****

**_Can she really do that?_ **

**“As a matter of fact, I can.” The woman remarked slyly; granted, she was really only casting a lesser ward in her hand and taking a wild guess based on his expression, but he didn’t need to know that…**

****

**_Gods she can read my thoughts too!?_ **

**Tullius swallowed dryly and chose his words carefully while the threatening spell inched closer until it reached the tip of his nose, the light emitting a high-pitched ring.**

**“That won’t be necessary.” The general relented with a sigh and slumped in defeat; the mage smirked triumphantly while closing her palm into a fist to expel the magicka.**

**“I’m glad we can agree on that, now, since you cooperated so nicely…if you accompany me to markarth, I’ll teach you my healing spell.”**

**A light brow dipped in consideration and the imperial came to the conclusion that a healing spell would be quite useful in the future, not just in Ulfric’s bed but out in the field as well…**

****

**_What has my life become?!_ The general screamed internally after running back over his previous thoughts; it was humiliating enough that he had to accept this fate, but thinking about Ulfric so casually left his heart twisting in confusion.**

**Hesitantly, the general extended an open palm to accept the mages offer with a bitter expression,**

**“It’s a deal.”**

**Sybille grinned with delight and shook his hand vigorously,**

**“I just have to pack some things and prepare the carriage; you’re welcome to bring along your legate if you’d like.” The robed woman said over her shoulder as she rummaged through drawers around the room, pulling out dusty books and strange looking vials; Tullius decided not to respond and left without another word, it wasn’t like he ever had a choice in the first place…**

~~~

Tullius slammed his hands on the planning table, alerting Rikke in the other room who came rushing to his side. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts, he’d ended up walking right into dour as he lost track of time. The trek back from the blue palace cooled off some of the steam accumulating, but he still felt a bit temperamental; it was driving him mad.

“Sir.” The soldier acknowledged with a polite nod, glad to have the general back where he should be.

“Ulfric has left to return to Windhelm.” Rikke reported, and brown eyes blinked, trailing up to the legate reporting for duty and Tullius sighed heavily, glad to have the distraction of planning in place,

“Good. Now what’s the status on our camps in the pale?” The general demanded curtly and the armored nord was quick to reply, and as expected—quite eagerly.

_Finally, his life was beginning to feel normal again…_

\----

The heavy sound of metal and hooves clinking against solid cobblestone filled Tullius’ ears when the carriage took off from the stables at nightfall; he never slept once on the journey as a general shouldn’t; he always had to be on guard. There was still the threat of a Stormcloak ambush despite the very weak, and temporary treaty between both the imperial legion and the Stormcloak rebellion. The ride was bumpy and agony on the generals healing hips; he’d rather not dwell on how that happened…

His second in command wasn’t a very good distraction, as she’d fallen asleep the minute they’d left the city. Poor Rikke, he could only imagine that she didn’t get a wink of sleep from the previous night out of concern for the imperial general. Her worry was all for naught, for he can handle more than his own, but he understood why she chose to. He didn’t have any family of his own back in Cyrodiil besides his father, if he was still alive even, gods can only imagine how furious he’d be if he ever found out about the recent details of his son’s life.

_He’d be exiled or executed for sure, fraternizing with the enemy was unforgivable…_

  
But Tullius often considered the legion and Elisif’s court to be like his family; they all genuinely cared for one another, just like a pack of wolves. These damn nords were making him soft in the heart. Although, he was still warming up to Sybille; that is, if he ever would with her strange superiority complex and weird humor…

He settled for tuning his senses in on the nature around him and he rested his eyes to avoid looking at the studious court mage reading a spell tome. Once the strong scent of juniper hit his nose and the ambience of crashing falls overpowering the sound of steaming dwemer technology began to ring in his ears, Tullius instantly knew he had arrived at the reach’s capital; Markarth. The scowl that never left the generals face scared off the children playing with the old dog at the stables and he frowned even further.

_Am I really that scary?_

The armor certainly didn’t help, but it still hurt; he actually had a soft spot for children. He often remembers the days when he was a boy and he watched the imperial soldiers parade around the city with awe which eventually grew into envy. Seeing the soldiers return successfully to the capital always fueled his ambition to follow in their footsteps. It’s a shame he never had the time, nor desire to start a family of his own…

“What’s the matter general?”

Tullius looked up in surprise, his brows raised as he followed the voice to his legate bathed in the first light of dawn who looked as concerned as she had ever since they left that damn mountain.

“Nothing. Let’s get this over with.” The imperial grunted while he made the small jump off of the carriage. He didn’t let the others see just how hard it was to keep his legs from giving out on him and his breath caught in his throat at the pain that lanced through his pelvis, but Rikke noticed, as the second in command should do…

\----

A hiss escaped the imperials lips as a pair of arms forced him to sink down by the shoulders into the steaming tub of water. The general angrily flicked away a one of the many wildflowers that were surrounding him as he adjusted to the heat of bath which produced tufts of steam dispersing in the chilly night air. His skin prickled when a priestess grabbed his elbow and began to scrub furiously up and down his arm with a wet cloth, another occupied with his raised leg that ached from the strain of stretching his already weakened muscles.

He couldn’t believe that he’d gotten himself into this mess…

Tullius recalled the mages words after she’d looked him up and down when they arrived at the city. She pulled him off to the side and grimaced before they entered the temple of Dibella,

**“You smell like dog.”**

**The general was of course shocked and somewhat humiliated by this revelation and he hesitantly brought up an arm to catch a whiff, only to smell nothing out of the ordinary.**

**Apparently his “odor” was so obnoxious that even the priests in the temple of Dibella turned their noses up and their faces wrinkled with disgust. He was lucky there weren’t any vigilants of Stendar lurking in the streets, otherwise he’d be dead on the spot.**

Tullius suddenly gasped for air when his head was dunked below the water’s surface, and when he fought off the hands pushing him down, the general coughed up water and felt it drip from his nose.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” The imperial shouted hoarsely while water burned down his throat and he slammed his palms on the rim of the flower-scented bath to pull himself up and snatch up a cloth to cover himself.

“That’s fine, I think we managed to cleanse you of that _beast’s_ stench before we present you to our Sybille.” One of the priests scoffed and turned on her heel, the other two cloaked in yellow robes trailing after her.

“Was that really necessary!?” Tullius snapped at Sybille Stentor and she merely shrugged, smirking under her blue hood, which only fueled his agitation further. While he was fuming in his spot, the mage silently watched the general take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. When he glanced back up, she was pointing at a pile of neatly folded yellow robes waiting on a stool for him.

“You can’t be serious.” The general groaned, to which he got a threatening raise of a brow. She had him right where she wanted him, if he backed out now, he’d lose his end of the deal, which was beginning to become a waste of his time. He _hated_ wasting time.

_Damn it._

He let out a suffering sigh and pulled the robes over his head which hung loosely from his body. He always had a problem with clothes being too loose; It felt unprofessional, he much preferred his armor, as he felt more secure when wearing it.

As the hooded mage guided him down the dwemer styled hall, Tullius began to ask himself why exactly he was here. He hadn’t even bothered to question the woman’s spontaneous trip, or her intentions behind it. All he knew so far was that he was being “presented” to someone important, but he smelled so bad they had to bathe him, which was a rather _grand welcoming…_

Tullius began to thank himself for making Rikke wait outside until this was over, for the minute they stepped into the chamber there was a child standing on a platform waiting for him. Apparently, she was one of the divines’ vessel’s, Dibella to be exact, which the priests called their Sybille, ironic as it is. But what did this have to do with him?

_Oh. These nords are crazy…are they serious?_

The general crossed his arms and frowned, this had to be a waking nightmare. Once the child started talking to Sybille about Tullius’ recently developed…behavior, he began to regret ever agreeing to this trip.

_“This is not one of my gifts that I have bestowed upon your people, I’m insulted that you’d link me to that beast **Hircine**. However, he may be able to help you, that is, if you can find him...”_

The mage frowned and gestured for the goddess to continue on her grand spiel.

“Go on…”

“There’s legend of a graceful, snow-white beast, that will grant you Hircine’s presence should you successfully hunt and slay the creature.”

Sybille nodded in deep thought and the child continued to speak with a voice too grown for her tiny body,

“The beast’s whereabouts are unknown to you humans, but I’ve heard that the prince of the hunt prefers the dense forests of what you call Falkreath; start your search there.” The goddess ordered without a further word before receding from the vessels body and the child blinked sleepily when the priestesses of Dibella caught her carefully.

Tullius shivered in discomfort, he didn’t know how to feel about a child being a vessel for a divine deity, but then again, he wasn’t mad enough to argue with a divine god…

“So, what now?” The general turned to the mage questioningly, after what he’d heard from their conversation, Sybille hadn’t essentially gotten the knowledge she sought from the divine. The mage was frowning in deep thought, her brow creased as she spoke with her eyes to the floor,

“This is harder than I anticipated, I’m going to need to research on the beast in Falkreath so I know what I’m dealing with here.” The robed woman explained and she folded her arms as Tullius impatiently pressed for more information,

“I told you this would be a waste of time, but besides that, how are you planning to research a mythical creature?”

“It’s not a mythical creature general, Skyrim is a mysterious land you must tread carefully.” The mage warned before she continued,

“Though the beast’s whereabouts are unknown…I think there might be a place that could help me…” Sybille trailed off and glanced up to meet the general’s scowl curiously,

**“Absolutely n—”**

_“The college of Winterhold.”_ She had raised her voice above Tullius’ own, which made the imperial clench his fists with frustration, he wasn’t used to feeling inferior.

“I am _not_ taking another—”

“Until the dragon born returns, there is no war to occupy yourself with—”

“There is so! I have soldiers to keep in order, what would they think of their general frolicking about in—”

“Ulfric’s bed?” The mage snickered as they continued to talk over each other, but the fun was short lived once the general’s vibrant blush of embarrassment faded, replaced with a morphing expression of anguish and fury. Tullius stormed out of the room without another word, ripping off the yellow robes which he had worn over his armor, and slamming the heavy dwemer door open to walk briskly out into the busy streets of Markarth.

\----

Rikke jumped from her slouched position on a jagged stone pillar when the door next to her flew open, and the imperial general brushed past her as he walked blindly into the foot traffic near the city market. The legate made a break for it once she saw where the general was headed, and she pushed past annoyed civilians as they casually strolled the mossy stone walkways. Tullius had already slipped out of the city gates by the time Rikke finally reached the steps. There was no time to catch her breath and the nord pushed through the heavy doors—past the guards which were soon to be replaced with Stormcloak troops at the fault of the dragonborn’s so-called truce.

_‘Damn he’s really fast.’_ Rikke thought as she chewed her lip when she lost his trail and she began looking around the thick brush of juniper until her sharp brown eyes caught a glimpse of him at the side of the river,

“Everything alright sir?” The legate tried to hide the exhaustion in her voice and she exhaled through her nose after she spoke. Tullius didn’t even flinch, his contemplative gaze stuck on the rushing waterfall that cloaked the area in a thin mist leaving the vibrant, green grass teeming with moisture. The general sat cross-legged on a flat rock, though the position was further stress on his hips, and he inhaled the serene herbal scent of juniper calmly. His expression was blank, lips pressed in a thin line which quirked downwards when the nord took a seat beside him.

“Can’t you just leave me in peace.” The imperial grumbled despite the woman’s relaxing company.

Rikke let out a soft laugh and she smiled as she watched a mud crab burrow into the clay and mud on the river bank,

“I’m afraid not sir.”

Tullius slowly felt his spirits lift, which suddenly came crashing down when he heard another pair of footsteps slowly tread up behind him. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know who it was. The imperial was known for forgiveness, as he wasn’t the type to hold any grudges, _unlike Ulfric_ ; however, his current situation made it difficult to maintain this status, even when the mage opened her mouth to quietly apologize,

  
“My apologies general, I stepped out of line.”

Rikke looked back and forth between the slouched imperial and the guilty, hooded mage who averted the nord’s questioning gaze. Tullius’ shoulders tensed before he was planting his hands on the ground to ease himself up, his knees weak as he stretched his legs to stand up. He’d been able to catch himself earlier, but this time around he was not so lucky when his knees decided to give out on him. Luckily the legate at his side was quick to snap and arm out and support the imperial before he could take the fall. Tullius held back the sigh of relief that wanted to spill from his throat, which he settled for clearing instead as he pushed away from the nord’s help.

“Winterhold was it? let’s hurry up, and you better keep up your end of the bargain.” The general huffed before making his way back to the carriage at the stables, Rikke unable to take her eyes off the slight limp in his step while worry consumed her.

\----

It seemed Tullius had finally reached his limit after losing conscious nearly an hour into their escapade to the land of the pale. Rikke caught the mages attention who tucked away the vials she’d been studying in her pack. The legate spoke quietly, afraid she would wake the general from his much-needed rest,

“I know you noticed it too.”

“…” Sybille let her silence be her answer as Rikke continued,

“Is there anything you can do for him?”

Sybille grimaced, she knew Rikke was referring to the general’s sore hips after his being at Ulfric’s mercy for hours on end. The mage put a finger to her lips pleading silence and the legate moved when the woman leaned forward with a golden light glowing in her palm. The general grumbled at the warmth enveloping his body, and he shifted in his sleep before he settled down again.

“That should do it.” Sybille whispered as Rikke nodded her thanks, it pained her knowing there was nothing she could do to help…

\----

Light puffs of hot air blew from the dragonborn’s cold face as she slowly treaded through the gates of Windhelm, a particular destination in mind. After her victory in sovngard, the armored adventurer meditated with Parthurnaxx at the throat of the world, and decided to rest up in Ivarstead after waving her goodbyes to the greybeards and descending the mountain. Of course, the dragonborn never gets a break, and she was given the menial task of making a delivery to Windhelm for a sum of gold. She had no reason to decline and begrudgingly accepted the civilian’s quest.

The dragonborn strolled into the markets of Windhelm and started walking towards the elven merchant, when she was suddenly grabbed by the elbow and being tugged backward on the slick cobblestone beneath her feet—

_“Hey!”_

Whirling on the man with fury, the woman was shocked to see it was none other than the jarl’s steward Jorleif, who apparently had no time to speak.

“No time dragonborn, you must come to the palace of kings at once!” Jorleif urged and waited for no response before tugging on her elbow and dragging her through an alleyway shortcut to the castles main entrance. The flustered dragonborn began to thrash about in protest without doing any fatal damage once they reached the throne room, and the surprisingly strong steward finally let her go.

The current jarl wasn’t present, which only fueled the poor nord’s agitation,

“Could you not wait a minute? Now I’ve gone and dropped that delivery somewhere on the streets and you’re gonna compensate for it you—” The woman hissed in the stewards face when she suddenly cut herself off at the echoing sound of footsteps. She shoved Jorleif back and released his collar, as the dragonborn watched Ulfric Stormcloak stroll forward.

“May I ask why you are harassing my steward— _dragonborn_?”

“I have a name you know, it’s—”

“So, the dragonborn returns….”

The adventurer pursed her lips at the jarl’s somber expression,

“Would you rather I have lost to Alduin?” she snapped and took a step back to cross her arms angrily. Few crossed the dragonborn’s wrath, for fear of her deadly shouts, but Ulfric had nothing to be scared of, as he too possessed a fraction of this gift…

“No. Thank you for freeing sovngard, and saving skyrim’s sons and daughters from the world-eater, dragonborn.”

“You’re welcome, now why was I dragged here against my will?” The woman grit back, now glaring at the sheepish steward who stated he was only following his jarl’s orders.

“Ah yes, since you have returned, I have a message for general T—”

“Wait a minute, I don’t remember taking any sides here—” The adventurer was quick to interject.

“Was it not you that ordered us Stormcloaks and those… _Imperial milk-drinkers_ to sit in the same room only to shove a truce down our throats?”

“That’s harsh, no one was forcing you, and if I remember right, you only attended to upstage general Tullius.” She reminded which put a scowl on the nord’s face.

“You could at least do me this favor, now if you don’t mind, I have a war to fight.” Ulfric sighed and handed over the sealed document without room for protest.

\----

They had to stop several times along the way to give the horses a rest and allow them to stretch their legs outside of the wagon. By the time they were in Winterhold the imperial’s skin was prickled with goosebumps as he shivered violently, and much to the general’s chagrin, Rikke wasn’t phased in the least.

“Well? are you just going to stand their shaking in your boots or are you going to accompany me to the college?” The hooded mage jabbed from the comfort of the hooded robes draped around her frame, gesturing to the looming fortress hanging by a thread above the frozen winter sea.

“Sybille, general Tullius isn’t a nord—”

“I’m fine Rikke, let’s go.” The general grunted and pushed past both of them into the brisk wind that blew chilling white snow against his braced arms, the mage and his legate following in suit. However; the trio didn’t get very far as Tullius snapped his head in the opposite direction after hearing his name over the howling wind.

“General Tullius!”

The imperial squinted through the flurry of white and spotted a familiar, armored adventurer trudging against the bitter storm.

“It’s the dragonborn.” Rikke commented as she watched the woman stroll forward with awe; the walking legend was quite the spectacle to the nords of Skyrim. Tullius wasn’t that impressed, afterall, he’d never seen her in a fight.

“So, you’re alive.” The imperial stated matter-of-factly as he fully turned around, posture rigid; he refused to look weakened in front of the dragon slayer.

“Yes, sovngard was—”

“What do you have there?”

“ _Huh_?”

Tullius pointed at the rolled document clenched in her hands as she rambled on about her adventure, and the woman suddenly snapped her mouth shut with a scowl,

“Here.”

The dragonborn moodily threw the sealed letter at the general’s face who didn’t so much as flinch. Turning on her heel, the dragon slayer had the full intent of leaving, if she wasn’t stopped by the legate who practically ran up to her with excitement.

“How was sovngard dragonborn?” The nord inquired with a curious gleam in her hazel eyes.

_Finally_ , someone to tell her story to!

“It was beautiful after the mist cleared—”

“Who did you see?”

“Well…”

Tullius decided not to listen in any longer and strolled along against the howling wind to catch up with the mage a good few paces ahead of him.

“I understand that you like to cut straight to the point, but could you at least show some kindness general?”

The imperial scowled at the mage’s back as she continued walking up the ramp past the towering stone arch after being let in by a chatty high-elf.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you really that oblivious?”

“…”

“I’m guessing that’s a yes—”

Sybille stopped to shove open the large wooden door past the courtyard where a statue held dangerous looking orbs of light. Tullius would rather not get too close, he was quite leery of magic…

When Sybille continued her spiel, they were hiking up the winding steps to the arcanaeum, or what Tullius liked to call a library,

“The poor girl just got back from defeating the ancient dragon Alduin and his underlings, do you know how tired she must be? The least you could do is listen to her story.”

The imperial grimaced, he hadn’t thought of it that way, he was just trying to save her the trouble…

When Rikke and the dragonborn caught up to them, Sybille had already gotten the book she came for and finished hearing urag gro-shub’s lecture about keeping his precious books in mint condition. The two nords were still chattering animatedly and Tullius felt the sudden obligation to make up for his earlier curtness with the woman. The legate was in the middle of telling her own story with dramatic gestures when the imperial general interrupted the both of them.

“It’s nice to have you back dragonborn, good work.” Tullius offered with a kind nod and the dragon slayer’s expression softened,

“Thank you, but I have a name, its—”

“Tullius!” Sybille suddenly interjected and waved him over enthusiastically, both of them ignoring the poor woman who was interrupted once more, her fury pouring out of her throat,

****

**_“son of a—”_ **

“Did you find something?” Tullius asked when he finally crossed the room, but was suddenly taken aback by a chilled hand brushing across the sensitive bite mark on his neck—

The imperial shivered violently and shoved the mage away, his teeth grit tightly to keep from letting out a pathetic whimper.

“Interesting…”

“…What is it…?” He muttered while defensively dragging a hand over Ulfric’s bite.

“Your mark is still quite sensitive to anyone’s touch, which means you haven’t reached the final stage yet.”

Tullius’ stomach seized and he opened his suddenly, very dry, mouth,

“Stage…What about the white beast in Falkreath?”

“That’s irrelevant now, I’ll need to see Ulfric immediately, but I have some things that I need to get back at the blue palace before I can confirm anything.”

The general let out a deep sigh,

_When will this torture end? Not only that, but how in oblivion are they supposed to get into Windhelm without being ripped apart on sight?!_

\----

Rikke was reluctant to see the dragonborn go after sharing their battle stories, and she watched the last glimpse of her fade into the flurrying snow as they loaded up the wagon. They had offered her a ride, but she wasn’t looking to go to solitude, she actually had an errand to run in Whiterun. Probably to tell Balgruuf of her victory if it hadn’t already reached him yet…

The wind chill bit at Tullius’ fingers as he grabbed the sealed letter from his pack, he already had an idea about who it was from. Blue wax only confirmed his suspicions and the bear emblem gave it all away; this letter was from Ulfric. The imperial shivered when a brisk wind swept up, at least the snow was beginning to die out…

Tullius skimmed over the page and he proceeded to set it down in his lap with a protesting flutter against the wind.

“Why so grim?”

“…”

Ignoring the mage’s questioning gaze, the general looked off into the distance as he spoke to both his legate and Sybille,

“Looks like we’ve got our ticket into Windhelm.”

“What did it say?” the hooded woman asked while gesturing to the neatly folded note in the imperial’s lap.

“Nothing that concerns you, mage.” Suddenly feeling provoked, the general buttoned up, but Sybille wasn’t one to give up easily,

“Aww why are you being so shy about it?

“ _I’m not_ —”

“Is it a love letter—OW!”

The mage hissed in pain when a sharp sting lancing through her ribs followed after legate Rikke’s elbow jab to the side. At times like this, Rikke really wished Elisif were there to entertain everyone with her annoyingly fun games, even if general Tullius refused to admit it lifted his spirits. Unfortunately, the youthful jarl was nowhere near, and the rest of the trip was consumed in silence, save for the occasional small talk that usually ended in another bout of Sybille’s snide comments. Rikke always had to be the mediator between the two when a fight sparked up, and she began to wonder if she hadn’t come along, where they would be—probably both dead.

She felt more like their babysitter if anything…

Eventually, Sybille spoke up once again once they had passed the night gate inn on the way to Windhelm, and she beckoned Tullius to come closer. The imperial raised a brow and leaned in with curiosity when the mage opened her palm a summoned a warm glowing light. Realizing what this was about, the general sat up straight with interest and opened his palm, trying to mimic the nord. But to no avail, his hand remained cold and empty. Sybille shook her head with a smirk and she handed him a spell tome and an expensive looking magicka potion for practice. The general frowned and leafed through the book, eventually giving up and placing the gifts in his bag dejectedly once he saw the city of Windhelm roll into view.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hoped you liked it and I'll try to update soon! Thank you so much for reading :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! I come bearing another chapter for u guys! I hope you like it :D

Getting into Windhelm was easier than Rikke thought it would be—what with their imperial getup. However, the guards showed no hesitation in opening the tall gateway into the snowcap of a city. In fact, this is actually the first time Tullius had ever been to Windhelm, seeing as it’s normally enemy territory, and he couldn’t help his wandering eyes from tracing over the ancient nordic architecture around him and comparing how different it was from that of Solitude’s which had adopted some of Cyrodill’s culture. His feet slipped a couple of times on the icy, narrow streets on the way to the king’s palace, and they didn’t get the warmest welcoming from the glaring civilians. Pushing his discomfort aside, Tullius maintained a posture of confidence to avoid looking weak in front of the die-hard Stormcloaks.

“Halt.”

Though there wasn’t much trouble getting through the gates, it seemed like getting into the palace would be a different story…

“What is your business with the jarl?”

The general sighed and fished through his pack to retrieve the official letter from none other than Ulfric Stormcloak himself to present it to the guard. Reluctantly, the soldier pushed open the heavy metal door and ushered the trio in, keeping his eye on the hooded mage in particular.

“Stay out of trouble.”

Tullius held back a snicker and instead focused on the attentive jarl who had sat up in his seat to greet his company.

“I see you had no problems getting my letter.” The blonds deep, soothing voice nearly had the imperial weak in the knees when he spoke, nevertheless he cleared his throat and gave his best response,

“Actually, I was already in the area.”

Ulfric raised a brow suspiciously and the general gestured to the hooded figure looming behind him, it was quite amusing to see that the mage was much taller than such a powerful, military figure.

“We were stopping in Winterhold.” Tullius explained without any further context; there was simply no need for it. The jarl nodded, still confused on the matter and he proceeded to frown,

“It was my understanding that you could bring _one_ guest.”

“You should consider yourself lucky that I’m here at all, you can thank Sybille for that.”

“Fair enough…”

Ulfric couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing on a trip together knowing that the pair didn’t get along, Rikke was obviously dragged into it against her will…

The uncomfortable legate looked over at the grumpy Stormcloak officer standing by the jarl’s throne, arms crossed defensively. It seemed that the stone-fist was not on board with welcoming them into their city. At least Ulfric understood that it was necessary after his entry in solitude, even if it wasn’t the warmest greeting, he still had to return the favor.

“Well are we just going to stand around all day, or are we going to get down to business?” Galmar snapped with urgency after finally losing his patience. Ulfric relaxed back into his throne and balanced his cheek on his palm after propping up his elbow on the stone armrest. Everyone could hear the sigh lacing his tone when he addressed the general,

“Right, I wanted to discuss the terms we agreed on since the dragonborn has returned.”

Tullius crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto one foot, and to his surprise, his hips weren’t crying out in agony. Realizing too late that everyone was looking at him, the general felt his face heat up in embarrassment as he made himself heard,

“I would prefer a private space for our discussion.”

The blond looked surprised for a moment, before his face fell back into its neutral state and he scratched at his beard out of habit,

“Very well, the room on your left, Galmar will show—”

“I only intend to speak with you; this has nothing to do with Galmar or legate Rikke.” Tullius cut in, effectively drowning out the jarl’s orders. Both second in commands shifted uncomfortably being dragged into the brewing argument that was to come. The imperial could see the smirk dancing in the nord’s green eyes and he began to sense a headache.

“Then the room on the _left_ —”

“This needs to be a _private_ conversation Ulfric.”

“Well then where do _you_ suggest?”

“just…somewhere quiet.”

The Stormcloak raised his brows and then smirked knowingly,

“There’s a room upstairs” Ulfric had rose from his seat on the throne to guide the fussy imperial with an extended hand gesturing to the arch on their left “Right this way.” The Stormcloak snickered and pushed open the door on the nearest wall of the room leading up a narrow staircase, the close proximity of the walls and low ceiling leaving a lump in the imperials throat. He was never one for small spaces…

\----

The crackling of the hearth next to them cast shadows on the walls as night fell on the two war-enemies who discussed agreements in great detail.

“And Markarth?”

General Tullius sighed and resisted the urge to massage his temples when the nord pressed him for the fourth time about the damn reach.

“Yes Ulfric, though I may not like it, we’ll give you Markarth for Dawnstar and compensation for the massacre at Markarth.” Tullius sighed, making an effort to confirm his end of the bargain as well.

The blond nodded with a frown, noticing the way the general had slowly backed up to rest his back on the end of the long table. Glowing embers jumped and crackled in the firelight; the smell of burning wood comforted the weary imperial. In all honesty, he’d nearly lost all strength in his legs once Ulfric began speaking in the small room, and he resorted to resting his weight on the table—unfortunately it wasn’t subtle enough…

“Everything ok there general?” Ulfric mainly used the imperials title to mock him, but the concern laced in his voice this time around made Tullius think otherwise.

“I’m fine.” He refused to falter his words, Tullius couldn’t afford to look weakened in the temperamental jarl’s company, especially when he was alone with him. The imperial began to feel his cheeks heat up as his body refused to calm down, it seemed he was reacting to being in an enclosed space with his alpha.

What a pain.

He knew he was done for when the jarl inhaled sharply, and had him pinned on the table in an instant. Ulfric leaned into the crook of the general’s neck and breathed into his sensitive skin deeply. His rumbling voice next to his ear left Tullius shaking with anticipation,

“This scent of yours is so…”

But before the jarl could finish his sentence and meet the general’s lips, the door flew open with a gust of air that shocked the both of them. Ulfric practically jumped away from the imperial with his hands up, while Tullius was struggling to calm his breathing and fanning his face.

“ _Times up boys_ —oh? Did I interrupt something?” Sybille asked slyly as she strolled into the room without sparing a moment’s hesitation. The general was quick to cover up the situation while Ulfric showed no shame,

_“No.”_

“Yes.”

Tullius glared up at Ulfric and the blond, equally in sour spirits, directed his anger at the mage who didn’t even bat a lash.

“Now that you two have wrapped things up—”

“We didn’t actually—" The jarl tried to cut in, but the mage continued to ramble on,

“I would like to run an experiment, maybe ask some questions…” Sybille mused while she folded her arms to look expectantly at the pair. Of course, Tullius was wary of the mage’s experiments, he had reason to after the last mess she’d gotten him into,

“What _kind_ of experiment?”

“A simple one really, it will only take a second.” The woman countered confidently while she held her hands up in a passive gesture. The imperial didn’t like where this was going, but Ulfric seemed willing to oblige to her requests, therefore he had no reason to refuse.

“Ulfric would you mind tilting your neck a bit and just pushing your hair to the side?” The mage asked while curiosity danced in her glowing eyes beneath her blue hood.

“Alright then…” The nord did as he was told, sweeping the short blond braids and locks of hair behind his ear, but it didn’t help his confusion, which deepened even further, when a cool hand was brushing over the sensitive bite mark that sent a ripple of discomfort down his spine.

“If you’ll excuse me.” The mage trailed off, her calculating gaze watching the jarls sour expression.

Tullius wasn’t faring any better, once he saw the woman touch the jarl’s neck, he instantly felt a pang of jealously lance through his heart before he corrected himself with shock.

What reason did he have to be jealous? He didn’t care if Ulfric was his alpha or not. They were enemies, engaged in a civil war!

_But why does it hurt so bad?_

Sybille had been carefully watching the imperials reaction over the matter of seconds that she delicately brushed over the blond’s pale skin. After pulling her hand away, the mage strode over to Tullius who was scowling with his rear leaning on the table behind him, arms crossed defensively. Sybille gave him a look that requested his permission and he sighed heavily before tilting his head to the side to offer his neck. The swipe over the scarred bite made the imperial shudder with disgust, but the mage didn’t even get to rest her hand on the mark for more than a second before she heard a growl rip from the nord’s throat behind her.

**“Don’t touch him.”** Ulfric warned protectively and Tullius eyed him peculiarly when his tall frame obscured his vision. Of course, it just had to be the bond talking, the Stormcloak couldn’t possibly give a damn about the imperial’s well-being, they were meant to hate each other, it’s the way it should be.

The mage backed away from the provoked bear of markarth and decided it was better that Ulfric were the one to try it,

“Why don’t you go ahead then _Stormcloak_.”

The jarl let out a beleaguered sigh through his nose and he reached out to the imperial without protest. Tullius reacted to the alpha’s touch instantly and had to grip the end of the table to keep from slipping to his knees, his struggle eminent on his bright red face as he tried his damndest to hold in the pathetic whine that wanted to spill out.

Sybille scribbled the new information in her pocket notebook quickly before tucking it away to grab a book from her satchel and leaf through it excitedly, all the while asking the Stormcloak a rather invasive question,

“Ulfric, what do you experience when you’re around the general?” 

The nord glanced over at the imperial who was massaging his temples in annoyance and turned back to the mage,

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Sybille gestured with an open palm to go ahead and shifted her weight onto one foot while balancing a hand on her hip, book clasped in the other. Ulfric wracked his brain for a smooth explanation but there was no way to explain it without a bright blush dusting his cheeks,

“Well, there’s this really strong, enticing scent that lures me in, and I’m drowning in it until I can’t think straight. Then everything gets really hot—”

“Ok, that’s far enough.” Sybille interrupted after hearing more than enough. The nord cleared his throat and thanked the divines that he didn’t have to explain any further.

“Now, I’ll just need a sample of your blood and I’ll be on my way.”

The jarl grimaced, “My blood?” He asked incredulously and the mage simply nodded while pulling out a dagger and a glass vial from a pouch buried in her robes.

“Yes, you two seem to only be at the second stage—”

“Wait what _stage_? How many stages are there?!” Tullius snapped at the woman who gestured to the worn book,

“Four to be exact, but the final pages have been torn and it’s too mangled to be legible after that.” The mage sighed in equal frustration before explaining the situation,

“That’s why I need Ulfric’s blood, I’m going to try a spell to reverse the effects of your bond so that we can all go back to—whatever normal was before.”

The room got rather quiet after Sybille’s explanation and the blond held out his palm as an invitation to go ahead. Ulfric flinched ever-so-slightly when the blade nicked his palm and a thick stream of warm crimson flowed into the bottle. Sybille corked the vial and grabbed a cloth out of her pocket and pressed it into the jarls wounded hand, letting the fabric soak up the blood before she cast her healing spell and the nord made a tight fist after the warmth faded from his palm. The Stormcloak stared down at his hand with awe and tested his reflexes while the mage gathered her satchel.

“Alright general Tullius, I have everything I need; we can set out for solitude as soon as—”

“General!” Rikke slammed open the door to the room and strolled in with galmar griping at her heels,

****

**_“I refuse!”_ **

“That’s not up to you!” The legate snarled over her shoulder where the Stonefist stood with a rather sour expression on his face, angered fists clenched at his sides.

“What’s going on here?” Ulfric intervened with his deep commanding voice that left his mate weak in the knees, despite his best efforts to hide it.

“Look.” Rikke pointed over at the frosted window and the jarl’s fur cape flowed behind him as he walked over to peer beyond the decorative glass. The wind was howling and rattling at the metal window guards while a thick sheet of snow swirled in every direction.

“That’s quite the storm.” The nord remarked as he continued to gaze out at the blizzard that painted his city in a blanket of white. The scene was quite comforting to him, but he knew that beyond the gates the fishermen were facing a rather harsh battle against winter.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to extend our visit jarl Ulfric, the horses can’t lead in these conditions.” Rikke explained with exasperation, not liking it any more than the protesting Stormcloak officer behind her,

“Not if I can help it! We nords are built for skyrim’s harsh weathers, you of all people should know this!”

“Well we have to consider those who don’t have such an advantage!” the legate hissed in defense of the general’s sake who decided it was his turn to speak up,

“You obviously mean me, I’m not so bothered by this weather, the storm should clear up once we reach Whiterun, we can stop there if we have to.” Tullius sighed, eager to leave the Stormcloak infested city more than anyone.

“No, you’ll stay here.” Ulfric ordered and galmar began shouting up a storm of his own,

_“You can’t be serious Ulfric—”_

“Come now Galmar, we have guests to entertain, why not show them some of that Windhelm hospitality?” The jarl snickered with amusement lacing his tone, only infuriating the old man further. Ulfric didn’t give him the chance to retaliate, instead he gave the officer orders of his own,

“Now go show these two to their rooms.” The blond suggested while gesturing to both women in the room, Galmar doing so with grumbled complaints under his breath,

_“For Talos sake…”_

When the door creaked shut, Ulfric heaved a sigh of relief and the general’s tensed shoulders relaxed.

“So, am I supposed to sleep on the floor?” Tullius asked with a raised brow referring to the fact that Legate Rikke and Sybille were getting a grand tour of the palace while the general was stuck with the smirking jarl,

“I only wanted to get them out of here so that I wouldn’t have to listen to their bickering.”

The imperial let out a soft snort and nodded in agreement, a small smile gracing his thin lips. Both of them stood in silence for a minute, neither knowing what to say until the imperial cleared his throat,

“Well?” he refused to look the nord in the eyes who was unabashedly staring at him with wonder, granted Tullius never smiled—it was certainly a rare sight to see…

“Right, follow me.” Ulfric’s expression hardened as shook his head and walked out of the room first, not bothering to wait for the imperial to catch up with his shorter legs.

“Do you have any preference?” The blond’s deep sultry voice had the general tripping over his feet for a second until he regained his balance and he berated himself for not having better self-control.

“What do you mean?” Tullius asked after finally catching up to the jarls side, refusing to walk behind the man.

“I have many guest rooms, do you want more space, a bigger bed perhaps?”

“Whatever is fine with me as long as there’s a bed to sleep in.”

The nord hummed in acknowledgement while they rounded a corner into a hallway with various doors.

“Take your pick.”

Being put on the spot made the imperial frown and he was suddenly overly conscious of every movement he made. He could feel those pale green eyes watching him with desire and it made him suppress a shiver. Tullius decided on a room to the left of the hall and swung open the first door to a basic chamber: a bookshelf, a bed and a hearth. The imperial strolled into the room and looked around, it was much different from his quarters in solitude, but it would do just fine. Turning around with his hands on his hips, the general spotted Ulfric leaning on the doorframe casually.

“Make yourself at home.” The jarl spoke lowly and the imperial reached down to relieve his aching feet from the imperial issued boots. When he felt those eyes on him again, the imperial looked up and scowled,

“Are you planning on watching me sleep or something?” he spat harshly and he slipped out of his other boot while Ulfric opened his mouth to joke,

“No, I’m just enjoying the show~”

The first thing Tullius felt was embarrassment as red colored his face, and then the fury welled up in his chest. After that, his mind went blank with anger and the leather boot gripped in his hand went flying. Ulfric ducked just in time before it could hit him square in the forehead and he heard a thud behind him when the boot hit the wall. The jarl stood back to his full height and he let out a deep chuckle from the heart,

“Sweet dreams general~”

Before Tullius could get his hand on the other boot, the door slammed shut and he sighed in frustration while flopping onto the bed utterly exhausted. Not having the energy to remove the rest of his armor, the imperial closed his eyes and felt the fog creep up on him, that is until there was a hesitant knock at his door. The general groaned and cracked an eye open,

“Yes?” He asked gruffly and the person on the other side of the door shuffled,

“I’ve been ordered to light the hearth, may I come in?” A feminine voice questioned gently, and Tullius found no reason to refuse after feeling a chill up his spine from the draught of cold air seeping through the windows.

“Yes.” His answer was short and clipped, his patience was wearing thin from the taxing journey and being Ulfric’s guest. The door creaked open and Tullius didn’t even bother to turn and see who it was, instead he stayed facing the wall, eyes shut as he focused on the sound of his breathing until the fire crackled to life and the footsteps faded.

\----

He woke up in a fit of heat as fire coursed through his veins, the red moon peeking in through the decorative, glass skylight. This feeling was, unfortunately, familiar and the general cursed as he sat up and ran a hand through his sweat damp hair.

“Damn it.”

Removing the leather layer of his armor down to his red and gold-embroidered raiment, the imperial sighed and brought his knees to his chest as he fought to control his heavy breathing. Minutes passed and the burning sensation in the pit of his stomach only grew stronger. Deciding that some fresh air would do the trick, Tullius stood on wobbly legs to find the nearest balcony.

After what felt like endless minutes of wandering, he finally found an exit into the cool night air, luckily, the storm had died down. However, he was less than fortunate to stumble out onto the very same balcony as Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.

“Yes, that’s me.” The man chuckled and a plume of warm breath followed after. Tullius began to wonder when exactly he’d said that out loud, but there was no denying it now.

“What are you doing out here?” The imperial asked, eyeing the jarl skeptically.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

The general remained silent and scowled up at the night sky, his feverish complexion soothed by the chilly breeze that made the fabric of his garment ripple. He felt every muscle in his body relax at the blonds deep, soothing voice,

“Trouble sleeping?”

“…Something like that.”

Ulfric hummed and turned to face the imperial while resting his back on the railing,

“One of the moons are full tonight.” The jarl commented and he nodded his head to the bright masses of light that illuminated the night sky enhanced by flickering stars.

“Mhm…” Afraid of his voice quivering, the imperial settled for emitting a noise from his throat instead to take place of his response. Unfortunately, the act was all for naught, as his deadly grip on the iron railing gave him away entirely, which Ulfric was rather quick to point out,

“I know you like the sound of my voice.” The blond had leaned down into the imperial’s ear and murmured deeply, reigniting the pit of fire in his stomach once more. Tullius stubbornly gripped the railing tighter and shook his head,

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” the general denied breathlessly, feeling the strength in his legs weaken to the point of no return, if he let go of the bar he was done for.

“Then let go of the railing.” Ulfric ordered and the imperial meekly shook his head,

“I’m fine, it’s just…cold out here—!!”

The nord had swiftly tugged at Tullius’ elbow to pull him off of the railing and just as he’d predicted, his knees instantly gave out on him. Luckily, Ulfric had quick enough reflexes and caught him just in time.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are a terrible liar general Tullius.” The blond remarked with a wicked grin.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” The imperial sighed and tried to squirm out of Ulfric’s grip, “Now unhand me.”

“Not just yet.”

Tullius looked up and frowned before struggling some more, which only made the nord’s arm tighten around his waist further. The look in those pale green eyes sought more than just a late-night chat and the general’s heart began to speed up rapidly after catching a glimpse of his expression. No matter how much he was tempted to give in to the desirable hunger written all over Ulfric’s face, there was still the matter of politics and professionalism…

“This…isn’t a good idea…” He sighed when the blond pressed his nose to the bond-mark marring his dark skin.

“Did you really think you could hide it from me?”

“…” Tullius tried to ignore the burning sensation returning to his stomach with a vengeance.

“I could smell you before you even stepped onto the balcony.”

_Gods that voice._

The general stubbornly grit his teeth, despite wanting to melt at the warm palm sliding beneath the hem of his fine robe to caress the skin of his muscled thigh. Swallowing thickly, Tullius stumbled over his own words,

_This is such a bad idea_

“Didn’t I say I was cold?”

Suddenly the hand sliding up to his hip came to a stop, signaling that he had the nord’s undivided attention.

_You’re going to regret this_

The sharp intake of breath at his next words only confirmed the Stormcloak’s excitement,

_“Why don’t you try and warm me up?”_

\----

_Maybe I didn’t think this through…_

Tullius caught himself thinking as a pair of strong hands urgently pushed him backwards, and onto the jarl’s royal bed that creaked under his weight. Fear was the only word he could use to describe what he

felt ripple down his spine when he met eyes with the Jarl looming over him as he pulled his fur coat off of his broad shoulders. Feeling exposed under that predatorial gaze, Tullius had the strong urge to flee the room especially when the nord, who was now stripped down to his pants, began to step closer until he reached the foot of the bed. The imperial gasped at the strength which hauled his hips forward and he could suddenly feel Ulfric’s girth against his own. Pressing his hips flush against the shaking general beneath him, the blond leaned forward to slide a hand beneath his red gown and up his rough skin until he reached a well-built chest.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast, are you scared?” Ulfric teased while his other hand, slicked with oil, feathered between the imperial’s spread legs now trembling with anticipation.

“Of course not.” Tullius sighed when two thick fingers breached his tight entrance and began to stretch him open with sloppy movements. The silence between them seemed to drag on forever, until the general decided to wiggle his hips to move things along faster. Daring to look up, the imperial locked eyes with the nord who proceeded to twist his three fingers inside of him at an angle. Suddenly, the general realized this was going to be the first time he was going to be coherent while Ulfric was bedding him. Just the thought sent a chill down his spine as the nord above him spread his legs as far as they would go. Unable to stop his hips from shaking, Tullius didn’t even get the chance to take a breath before the Stormcloak slammed into him, forcing out a hoarse shout from deep within his throat.

Ulfric let out a low, pleasured groan as he reveled in the tight heat around him, completely unaware of the imperial losing his composure at his mercy. What snapped him out of his reverie were the pair of trembling hands desperately grappling at his shoulders that moved with every punishing thrust. The nord leaned down and pressed in deeper as he drank in the sight of the imperials debased expression, and the hands at his shoulders gripped even tighter as if hanging on for dear life. Ulfric smirked and ran a hand up one of the legs wrapped around his waist until he reached under the imperial’s knee which he used as leverage to achieve a deeper angle. Ulfric was glad the walls of his palace were solid, otherwise, his other guests, including galmar, would have woken up long ago.

Tullius was breathing heavily through his nose as he fought to adjust to the nord’s size.

_Gods, was he always this big?_

Apparently the Stormcloak was not one to show mercy, and it didn’t take long for him to have the imperial on the edge. One of the hands gripping his shoulders hesitantly let go and he slowed down the pace while shaking fingertips slid up his jaw. It came as a shock to Ulfric, being touched so tenderly by the general who was also his sworn enemy….

He didn’t realize that Tullius was trying to get his attention until the body beneath him squirmed in discomfort. The imperial’s lips moving around a breathy voice while his brows were pinched tightly together in pure pleasure,

“I-It’s too hot…”

Realizing what he was asking for, Ulfric grabbed the hem of the imperials robe now riding up his chest, up and over his head to then proceed to fling it across the room. Eventually they settled back into a steady tempo and the bed creaked rhythmically as the nord worked his hips ruthlessly. Just when Tullius bit his lip thinking he couldn’t last a second longer without spilling, a rather painful thrust snapped him out of his euphoria. The next thing he knew, there was a pair of strong hands gipping his hips and flipping him over onto his stomach. It was all he could do to claw at the sheets as the nord drove back into him without any warning. His belly quivered at the deep angle now pushing him back and forth on his hands and knees and—was Ulfric getting bigger?

_No, that can’t be…_

At another painfully tight thrust, Tullius began to second guess himself,

_Nevermind, he’s definitely getting bigger._

When the burning stretch became unbearable, the imperial began to pleadingly whimper,

“W-Why…” He couldn’t finish his sentence; Ulfric reached down to tease his member to distract him from the painful process,

“It’s my knot.” The Stormcloak explained without needing further question from the shaking imperial beneath him.

“Y-Your what...?”

Ulfric chuckled deeply and leaned in until his lips pressed against the shell of Tullius’ ear and he pushed in deeper, earning a choked groan in response as he talked over him,

“Do you not remember _begging_ me for it while I was breeding you in heat?”

The general’s shoulders tensed as he gripped the sheets once more and buried his head into the pillow beneath him to shake his head with a whimper.

_‘How cute.’_

“Well you’ll find out soon enough.” The nord promised as he began to thrust harder while his length swelled, tearing mixed noises of pleasure and pain from the imperial’s throat. Over time the knot slowly grew in size and the imperial’s breathing got heavier until he was nearly gasping for air once the nord finally succeeded and pushed in with a husky groan while he spent his release inside of the tight heat sheathed around his length.

“Breathe.” Ulfric ordered while stroking the general’s lower back tenderly.

Tullius took a few deep breaths and felt his tightened chest relax as he began to breathe steadily through his nose. Besides the matter of his choppy breathing, the imperial felt his heavy member cry out for relief and the blond wrapped a large hand around him to gently tug on his cock while he forced his knot deeper. The general let out a sharp gasp as he felt the nord’s seed leak through his entrance and drip down his legs. Ulfric didn’t seem bothered in the least and began to push in to lightly thrust against a sensitive spot.

“W-Wait—” Tullius tried to protest but the nord simply continued to gently pump into him slowly as he milked his release while growling into his ear,

“That’s good…”

It was utterly degrading, but it felt _so_ good.

The imperial bowed his head in embarrassment as he shook at the blond’s mercy who continued to grind himself even deeper, a warm palm stroking his quivering belly.

“U-Ulfr…hic!”

He didn’t know when the tears began flowing down his cheeks, but when Ulfric slammed into him forcefully, Tullius let out a tight sob of pleasure as a finger traced down his throat,

“What’s wrong general? Is it too much?” The Stormcloak murmured into the imperial’s ear with that voice that drove him wild, all the while gripping his weeping member tightly after giving his base a jerking tug. A strangled moan escaped the generals throat and he trembled as he begged,

“Ulfric… _please_ _stop_ — _Hnng_!!”

After one final deep thrust, the imperial’s release was leaking from Ulfric’s fist, and Tullius had gone limp in his embrace. Laying him on his side, the jarl wrapped a protective arm over his belly to wait out the knot while the general breathed heavily with sleep.

“That’s new…” Ulfric murmured to himself amusedly and reached a hand down to gently caress the general’s cheek bone.

\----

The imperial began to rouse right around the time Ulfric was able to come loose and he shuddered as the man lifted up his thigh while they laid on their sides and he grinded up slowly for a few seconds, forcing the general to choke on a sob. When the nord pulled out, the imperial felt unbearably empty and he curled up away from the nord as wetness pooled between his legs where the jarl had just been lodged. He hadn’t been expecting Ulfric to speak to him afterwards, but his heart skipped a beat when a strong arm tugged him by the waist to pull his back against the nord’s broad chest which rumbled while he asked,

“Do you hate it that much?”

“What do you mean?” His voice was gravelly and the imperial fought back the urge to wince, he’d probably have no voice come morning…

“Whenever we’re together you…always cry.”

The imperial chewed at his cheek, considering whether or not he was ready to admit this,

“It’s…the opposite.”

At this Ulfric sat up in a rush to look at the general’s face but to his dismay he’d already fallen asleep…

\----

Tullius woke up in the room he started in, though painful as it was, the wave of relief drowned out the stinging of his bond mark after being “abandoned” by his alpha.

_How_ _annoying._

Ulfric had been kind enough to carry him back to his room so that their recent affairs would remain strictly confidential. However, it seemed the jarl’s kindness only stretched so far, for once Tullius felt a chill ripple down his spine, he realized that he’d never actually gotten dressed. The imperial sighed and sat up in the small bed to take in his surroundings, blinking the sleep out of his eyes in the chilly room—the hearth had died out long ago…

His legs were weak and heavy as he swung them over to the side of the bed to stand and search on the whereabouts of his clothes. Finding the armor, red robe and his undergarments folded on a nearby chair rather quickly, the imperial heaved a sigh of relief and staggered his step trying to make his way over to the folded pile. Tullius winced and brought up a hand to cradle his hip after a sharp pain struck his pelvis, the shock pulled a gasp from his throat and he doubled over to regain his bearings. His throat was raw as a result of the previous night and it burned with a thirst for water. After tugging on the robe following his armor and leather boots, Tullius had every intent to leave in search of water, that is until he ran into something solid and…warm. The imperial gulped and hesitantly looked up to see who he bumped into and the lump in his throat only grew at the sight of Ulfric Stormcloak. The large hands on his hips steadied him and soothed the ache with their warmth, but what had him melting was that deep sultry voice rough with sleep,

“Leaving so soon?”

Tullius struggled to find words, his mind an addled mess at his alpha’s mercy,

“I…was looking for some water.” The imperial rasped, the scratchiness of his throat burning on each word.

“There’s a pitcher right there.” Ulfric stated rather bluntly and gestured to the blue jug next to a pair of neatly arranged cups on a nearby end table.

“Oh…”

Forcing himself to pull away from the jarl’s warm grip, the general turned on his heel and tried to hide the slight limp in his step, but it was already too late; Ulfric wasn’t stupid.

“I’ll…get that for you…” The jarl murmured awkwardly and gently brushed past the struggling general to lift the jug and pour the water before handing over the cup.

“…thanks.” Tullius frowned and brought the cup to rest against his lips before downing the entire drink in one gulp following a dull clink after he set the dish back down on the end-table. Watching the Stormcloak carefully, the imperial noticed he was holding something behind his back after catching a glimpse of it when he shifted his weight onto one foot and he raised his brow in suspicion,

Without need for question, Ulfric caught on rather quickly and his face lit up with the earnest expression of remembering something important. Tullius hesitantly took a step back when the jarl’s hidden arm swung out from behind his back and he hadn’t realized he’d winced or even closed his eyes for that matter until a gentle laugh eased his apprehension. Reluctantly, the imperial opened his eyes and he relaxed his body, embarrassed that he had such an extreme reaction to nothing but a scarf of sorts. The fabric swayed in the light draught from the roof slats and the sun illuminated the light and dark blues dying the cloth. Tullius’ confused expression spoke for itself and the Stormcloak began to explain himself,

“You kept complaining that you were cold last night~”

The imperial’s face flushed vibrant red and in an instant, he roughly shoved the Stormcloak who lost his footing, and he slammed his back into the wall behind him, letting out a grunt while Tullius frantically looked out into the hall to make sure nobody overheard their conversation. Heaving a sigh of relief, the general slammed the door shut and whirled on the blond,

“It’s best we don’t talk about that right now.” The imperial ordered and placed his hands on his aching hips to somewhat hide the fact that he was in pain. Ulfric stood up from the wall and massaged at his lower back,

“Yeah, sure.” The jarl agreed, nevertheless proceeding to pull out the scarf and offer it to the slightly shivering general,

“You should still take this.”

Tullius scowled distastefully and crossed his arms,

“But it’s Stormcloak colors.” He protested while taking a step back from the jarl advancing forward who was beginning to grow exasperated,

“Then we’ll keep it between us, just wear it under your armor.”

“…”

The imperial didn’t put up a fight when the Stormcloak stepped closer and looped the scarf around his neck, the soft fabric soothing the chill creeping up his exposed nape. Ignoring the fact that it smelled like Ulfric, the general heaved a sigh and gave in. Upon looking up at the nord’s face, Tullius suddenly felt the urge to ask what was so funny after seeing his expression of holding back laughter,

_“What is it?”_

“Nothing you just…really look good in blue~” The Stormcloak teased with a wicked grin and left the room before Tullius could even get his argument through his gritted teeth. Finding no reason to remove the scarf from around his neck, the imperial begrudgingly accepted the nords gift.

\----

“Is that everything?” Rikke asked while adjusting the pack on her shoulders, Sybille taking this as her time to double check her things before nodding in agreement. Both nords looked to the imperial still discussing something with Ulfric off to the side, Tullius looking rather wary.

“You still look quite cold there, are you sure you don’t want my fur cloak?” The Stormcloak teased, his voice dropped below a whisper so that he couldn’t be heard by anyone else, and the general frowned up at him, arms crossed defensively,

“I can handle a little cold.”

“If you say so…” Ulfric paused to look at the sky and then back to the imperial, “Looks like a storm is coming.” He snickered when a brisk wind picked up and blew a few snowflakes into the air to flurry around them.

Tullius took a step back when the nord leaned in close, his plume of breath warm against his ear in the bitter cold of an eternal winter,

“My offer still stands.”

The imperial blamed the flush in his cheeks on the cold stinging his face upon hearing that husky whisper. Nevertheless, Tullius stubbornly dug his heels in and pierced his nails into his arms, while shaking his head in disagreement.

Rikke watched the Stormcloak walk away from the general who braced his arms against the wind while making his way to the cart. Lending Tullius a hand, which he begrudgingly took, the legate hauled the imperial up the high step and helped him into his seat. The general sat down with discomfort and fought the urge to squirm at the ache lancing through his hips. Looking up upon feeling two pairs of curious eyes on him, the general caught both Sybille and legate Rikke staring at him with unreadable expressions—it made him uncomfortable…

“What?” The imperial asked gruffly with a raised brow, it was no use trying to mask the hoarseness in his voice.

The two nords shared an equal look of understanding before turning back to the nervous imperial who was beginning to feel an uneasiness creep up his throat. Rikke was the one to break the awkward silence and her expression hardened as she interrogated the general,

“What is going on between you two?”

Tullius swallowed dryly, finding no excuse for his behavior, the least he could do was stall the inevitable,

“Who?”

“You know who!”

He let out a harsh exhale that dissipated in a white cloud in the chilly winter breeze and Sybille decided now was her time to jump in,

“Is Ulfric courting you?”

“NO! Gods _no_ , we’re just acting like this because of the bond.” Tullius protested and dropped his head in his hands, unable to stop the memories of last night from heating up his cheeks. The general kept his head low until the blood stopped rushing to his face, Rikke continuing to push him in the meantime,

“And the scarf?”

“I was complaining that it was cold last night—” the imperial stopped himself too little too late, for the secret he’d been attempting to keep was out,

“ _Last night_? You two saw each other?” Rikke asked incredulously, her eyes widening for a moment until she began to connect the dots and her brows dipped in thought, his red face gave the entire tale away…

“What were you two doing?” The legate pressed, leaning on the edge of her seat out of pure curiosity, though she already knew the answer…she just wanted to hear it from the general himself.

“We were just talking…” Tullius sighed in exasperation and began to look anywhere but the two nords’ general direction, which only made it worse for him as Sybille, who had been observing quietly, carefully chose her moment to sink her claws in,

“How was it?”

The general turned to her with a genuinely quizzical expression, his brows pinched tightly as he asked her to repeat herself,

“What?”

“I said how was it?”

“How was what?”

“Who made the first move?”

“Move…? I don’t—” Then it dawned on him, **“No.”** Tullius flat out refused to answer the question, crossing his arms as a scowl settled in.

However, he should know by now that Sybille was not one to give up easily, the carriage bumped a few times on some rocks and the general couldn’t help the hiss that escaped his lips.

“Is he big?”

Tullius pretended not to hear her despite the color creeping up his neck, Rikke not faring much better. She never intended to push this far, but Sybille was on a whole new level,

“How does he do it?”

“…”

“Does he take you on your hands and knees?”

“…”

“Does it feel good—”

“Yes!” The general shouted catching both women off guard who flinched in their seats, “Yes it does, are you happy now?”

“How long are you two going to keep making excuses to see each other?” The mage questioned, but it seemed she’d pushed too far for the day. Tullius didn’t answer, in fact, he refused to talk for the entirety of the trip back to solitude, and Sybille began to wonder if the mortified imperial would ever speak again…

That being said, everyone froze up once they heard a forgotten party member clearing their throat after the dust settled—The poor carriage driver was going to be scarred for life.

\----

He ran his thumb over the soft blue fabric of the scarf smoothly, the rough pad of his finger dragging lightly on the threads. Grimacing down at his lap where the Stormcloak garment laid, the imperial felt conflict rise in his heart as he sat on the edge of his bed, Sybille’s words ringing in his ears

_How long are you two going to keep making excuses to see each other?_

Tullius let out a deep sigh and clenched the scarf in one hand as he swung his legs over the bed and beneath the cold sheets. Hoping to bring about some warmth the imperial tugged the scarf closer and buried his face in the fabric, curled up in the center of the bed that felt far too big.

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I love being able to share this with people who also ship these fools, I honestly don't know how it happened or when it got so deep but oh well! I'm having fun!

**Author's Note:**

> OK so I hope it wasn't too bad and congrats! You made it to the end of the first chapter lmao, but seriously lemme know if you want more chapters cause I will provide im just nervous rn >_>  
> thanks!  
> -Peachy  
> (PS. if you are a dear reader from one of my other WIP's not at all related to skyrim, wondering what the hell, I am sorry, and I will try to get back on track asap, I just got hella sidetracked)


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